


But the Cat Came Back

by headraline



Series: Detroit: Become Human Prompts [11]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: "Jesus Christ Connor!", Catwoman AU, I love everything, IDENTITY SHENANIGANS, M/M, RATING UPPED BECAUSE SEXYTIMES ARE GONNA HAPPEN FROM CHAPTER 5 ONWARDS, Sort Of, Top Connor, funny fic, gonna be teen and up for now but I'll probably up it to Mature in the future so be on the lookout, human!AU, implied switch dynamic, light hearted fic, more characters possibly coming soon, more like modern robin hood au, starring Markus the Cat Lad, superhero au, this is what the RK1K discord does to me, this is why we sometimes CAN have nice things, y'all are to blame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-10 14:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15951482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: Markus doesn't quite know what possessed him to become a vigliante art thief who recovers masterpieces that are unjustly taken from where they really belong.Connor doesn't quite know that getting so hung up on the mysterious Cat thief case would bring forth way more than what he bargained for.





	1. Thrill of the chase

**Author's Note:**

> ALRIGHT Y'ALL. YOU ASKED.  
> MADE BEAUTIFUL ART IN THE DISCORD.  
> AND ASKED.  
> PAPA HEADRALINE DELIVERS.
> 
> I'm due to go to work in half an hour and will be working late, but.  
> Just take this silly bunch of crap. I'm gonna have so much fun with this.  
> I love all of you.

How did he end up into this mess again?

Markus cannot bother trying to find an actual answer to the question, not when he’s running as fast as he can across a rooftop. He had protested the cat-suit, when North brought it to him, but now he’s thankful for the elastic latex sticking close to his body rather than getting snagged everywhere and slow him down like regular clothes would.

 _“You got this at a sex shop, North!”_ he had told her, back then, to which she replied: _"Where else would I have found a men’s full bodysuit that covers your face? Just be glad I modded it to give you some body protection, you ungrateful ass!”_

That’s fair, he supposes. The thin elbow, knee and shin guards underneath the latex are particularly useful whenever he skids, tumbles or jumps off things –like right now. This is a goddamn four-stories building, and if he wants to escape the detective hot on his heels he’ll probably have to jump _off_ it _._

He is also thankful for the yellow goggles –a thief with heterochromia wouldn't be on the run for long.

Damn it. Old man Anderson has never chased him all the way –he usually gives up when he starts scaling things.

Coming to think of it, the cat theme kinda fits. Markus allows himself a smirk as he reaches the edge of the roof and looks down, eyes sweeping around quickly trying to find ways to make his fall less direct.

There’s a clothesline there, it will no doubt snap under his weight but he can ride it down to the open blinds of the shop below… he’ll have to try and jump out as far as he can to even be able to grab it and even then it’ll be a nasty bruise, but… it’s doable. He tosses out the tube with the rolled-up canvas, to be recovered once he lands.

“Alright, end of the line!” a voice behind him yells, slightly out of breath, “There’s nowhere to go from here, turn around.”

Markus does turn around –he gets quite the shock for a moment: he didn’t expect the policeman chasing him to have such a pretty face, and it nearly makes him lose his cool right then and there… he also recognizes the guy. It’s old man Anderson’s son… the really cute one that was training to be a detective.

Apparently, he achieved his dream. And of course they’d put the newbie on the case nobody wants to be saddled with. “End of the line indeed, _officer_.” He says, punctuating the title almost like a purr –he’s already dressed up like a sex catboy, might as well live up to the image. “I do wonder, though… is there _really_ nowhere to go?” he takes a small little hop backwards to stand on the very edge of the roof and smiles.

The detective takes a step forward. “What are you—”

Markus doesn’t stay to explain. “See you next time, _tiger_ ~” is all he answers that with, taking a bend in his leg and releasing in one powerful jump back, opening his arms to turn and hold out his hands to catch himself on his way down. It does snap, and he does slam on his side to the wall of the shop on the other side, but he tucks, lets himself roll on the blinds and land on the sidewalks on all fours.

Like a cat.

There aren’t many people out and about at this time of the evening, but there’s still a few passers-by that wonder what the fuck they’re looking at… Markus doesn’t pay them any mind, looking up to see that the detective has run to the edge of the roof and is now staring at him from up there –possibly in disbelief at the insane motherfucker who just jumped off a building.

 _‘Sorry, tiger, you’re gonna have your work cut out for you.’_ He thinks with a smile, almost feeling bad. As a spur of the moment thing, he blows a kiss up at the other.

But it’s all he allows himself to do, before sprinting into the alleyway he had thrown his prize into and then disappearing into the night.

 

Connor is out of breath, for several reasons. Not only because he’s been chasing a thief in a latex suit _up_ a building –he couldn’t quite believe his eyes when the man they cornered out of the private gallery started _climbing_ the adjacent building instead of running, with a speed that speaks of a free runner or someone otherwise athletically gifted.

He also had his breath stolen from him when he thought the thief was committing suicide rather than hand himself over –sure, felony theft lands you in jail, but it’s definitely _not_ worth flinging yourself off a building for. Then he saw the man stick the landing like a goddamn— a goddamn _cat_ , and with the gall to blow kisses at him.

Letting out a few more short breaths, Connor feels his jaw set into a tight pull. “Next time.” He mutters to himself.

If he has to be completely honest to himself, there’s also a third reason why he’s finding it hard to breathe and feels way too hot in his chest, even considering the chase. That cat-suit does _nothing_ to hide the thief’s very well-toned figure. And you have to be in shape if you’re going to be running rooftops, so… it is quite the sight to behold. Connor is pretty sure he should arrest the man just for wearing the thing in the first place.

But that is, of course, highly unprofessional for a police detective like him and it _does not_ influence his ongoing investigation. He does not have an obsession with ‘the Cat Lad’; he’s just doing his job.

The name came by on accident, Hank told him when they got him started on the case. There was an eyewitness at what was deemed to be the first robbery carried out by the man in the cat-suit, and the old woman who claimed to have seen him run away declared “Yes, there was this cat lad… he jumped over there… he had ears and a tail.”

With no real name for the perpetrator, and no other relevant hints to his identity, it stuck.

Connor kind of feels like he’s living in a stupid DC universe comic book.

He sighs –there’s no time to dwell on it: Fowler is not gonna be happy at knowing he let this guy get away again. It’s the second time in as many as they met… but hey, at least he’s improving. The first time he didn’t even manage to get face to face with the Cat Lad.

And Hank himself has never caught him in the span of two full years, so Connor feels slightly validated.

Still. He won’t give up so easily.

 

The digital clock reads 7:00 when the alarm goes off.

Markus stretches in bed with a sigh. He shuts off the thing with a groan at the movement, and he crawls reluctantly out of the sheets to go shower. Catching himself in his bathroom mirror, he checks the condition his left shoulder is in. Yep, still an angry purple with skin scraped in places. He’ll have to put some more arnica on that after washing up.

His entire medicine cabinet is comprised mostly of bandages, lenitive body ointment, heated muscle pads and stuff to deal with scrapes, cuts and blunt trauma.

This has been his life for the past two years.

Working as a journalist, you get exposed to all kinds of nasty stuff, some of it that you can do absolutely nothing about. But he’s always had a problem with injustice, and— he _remembers_ what it feels like to have something familiar and important taken away, and being impotent to take it back.

When his step-brother covertly sold one of their father’s masterpieces to pocket the value, Markus was devastated. But regardless of what Leo himself did with the money, the transaction was legal and unless he wanted to try and buy it back from the man –which would mean Carl finding out and being hurt by Leo’s actions _yet again_ — there was no legal way of getting that painting back.

So he broke in the man’s house and stole it. It was his very first robbery, it was messy as all hell and he’s still amazed that he managed not to get seen, but he was sixteen at the time, so maybe adrenaline and juvenile recklessness made him pull off stunts that one normally wouldn’t.

He thought about that night for years, struggling between the pride at righting injustice and the regret at breaking the law, but eventually his choices did catch up to him after a few years: the paper he works with does a piece of a new gallery exposition, and when he goes to visit Carl on the way back from work his elderly father mentions distaste for it, knowing the original author of some of the pieces and knowing that the people taking the credit for them actually forced the struggling artist to sell them, essentially stealing the intellectual property and leaving the author with no way to prove it.

By midnight on the same day, Markus knew what he had to do.

North was all too happy to see him fight for justice in his own way –she is quite the activist herself, and had tried time and time again to sway Markus over to the ‘revolutionist side’.

He still thinks she picked the cat-suit as a way to get back at him for taking so long.

“Well, hot stuff…” he tells his reflection, not without a hint of irony, “Time to go and have another full day at work while riding on three hours of sleep.”

This is his life indeed.

 

“Hey, Markus, I’ll need you to put the editorial on hold.”

He already knows what his editor is going to tell him, but it’s better if he makes a show of being oblivious. “How come? I thought we needed this out by tomorrow…”

Simon shakes his head. “No, there’s been another robbery by that cat guy. I want you to go down to the precinct and get a statement.”

“Is it funny to make me run around like a headless chicken or are you just a sadist?” He pretends to complain, because actually doing pieces on the cases involving… well, _him_ , actually gives him reasons to hang around the police station and get information on the force’s movements. Also, in every paper you almost always get assigned the pieces you _don’t_ wanna cover, so it wouldn’t do him any good to show himself too eager.

For what it’s worth, his editor is chill enough to chuckle along. “Take it as a compliment, Markus.” He says, clapping him on the shoulder, “You know the force doesn’t care much for media, and you have a way with people. Go and work your charm, will you?”

Markus makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Fine, but let it be known you’re essentially whoring me out.”

Speaking of working charms, though, he idly wonders whether he’ll get to see his cute detective again.

He kind of hopes he will.


	2. Not-so-first Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm covering the latest update on the case of the Cat thief for our paper, so I'd be really grateful if you could give it to me."
> 
> There is a long, painful beat of silence. "The case. If you could give me your take. On the case. So far."
> 
> This is going to be a nightmare, isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. Especially our beautiful artists at the discord, [Sam](http://drawinggheys.tumblr.com/) ; [(twitter)](http://twitter.com/randomsam_); Star and [Magpie](http://flavoredmagpie.tumblr.com/)!

 

“Not you again…” Hank Anderson shakes his head affectionately upon seeing him, with his  ‘press’ badge hanging from his neck, his recorder and everything.

The journalist shrugs in his shoulders, movement slightly lost in the oversized sweater that goes down to almost half-thigh –call him paranoid, but being seen around in skimpy clothing by people whose job is to notice everything has made changing his style to loose clothes that hide his body shape feel like a good, sensible idea. "I know, Lieutenant, it's like a sour medicine, but I promise I won't take up too much of your time..." he promises, smiling warmly at the man. He privately feels bad for deceiving him –Anderson is a close friend of Carl's and a good man. It's unfortunate to be on opposite sides, but... it ultimately can't be helped. "For what it's worth, it is good to see you, Hank."

The Lieutenant huffs, but the hint of a smile manages to make its way on his face. "Yeah well... is this about what I think it is?"

Markus nods with an almost solemn expression. "Alas, it has made the news."

Of course it would, _he jumped off a goddamn building_. He really needs to improve his stealth further.

But Hank's next words snap him out of his musings: "Then I'm not the man to speak to anymore. My involvement in the case is not hands-on anymore, I've been reassigned."

"Oh?" It takes a lot of Markus' self-control to appear curious instead of tense: is this really happening? Is Hank going to tell him—

"You're gonna have to speak to a different Anderson for a statement right off the field." —that. Damn it. "Hey, Connor! Get your ass over here! Look, you get to deal with the press, too! Lucky you!"

The Lieutenant gestures at Markus with no small amount of irony, but he's too rooted to the spot to react to the joke. He had no problems facing the detective from behind his cat mask and with his body pumped full of adrenaline from the chase, but seeing him here, in his element... it makes words catch in his mouth.

Detective Connor Anderson is tall, as much as he is if not a little bit taller, even. He's slender but not skinny, exactly the type of person who would have no problems running after him. He is also breathtakingly _gorgeous_ , with soft-looking brown hair and the eyes to match, and the uniform jacket gives him a sort of quiet authority that makes Markus want the man to cuff him and read him his Miranda rights.

Markus may or may not be utterly fucked. And not in the fun way.

The gorgeous vision finally speaks, holding out a hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Connor."

"...Me too."

Connor blinks confusedly at him and Markus wishes he could be swallowed up by the floor. Way to fuck up his first impression. "I— I mean, nice to meet you too." He says, knowing full well it's too late to recover that disaster of a greeting, even as he finally reaches out to shake "I'm Markus."

"What can I do for you, Markus?"

Well, the journalist can think of several things, but none of them are appropriate for work. "I'm covering the latest update on the case of the Cat thief for our paper, so I'd be really grateful if you could give it to me."

There is a long, painful beat of silence. "The _case_. If you could give me your _take_. On _the case_. So far."

He's only digging himself deeper down, isn't he?

People can say what they want about skimpy outfits, but one universal truth remains: they boost your confidence to unreal amounts. Be it the safety of the mask, the detachment from your everyday self, or what have you, but Markus feels like a bona fide sex god in that thing.

Such confidence and power clearly don't translate into the man with freckled skin and the cream sweater with sleeves past his knuckles.

He hears Anderson senior snort at his desk and really— he can't blame the man. This is a train wreck of a first meeting, even without the whole secret identity mess.

Connor, who may very well be a saint for this, mercifully dismisses the whole thing with a chuckle and a nod. "Of course. Please, follow me. We can sit down in front of a cup of coffee and I'll give you all the information that I am at liberty to disclose."

Markus is startled once again—Hank usually made him fight more for any statement, so it's a surprise to have someone agree so easily. "I—uh... sure, yeah! Yes, thank you."

Damn it Markus, get yourself under control!

This is going to be a nightmare, isn't it?

Sometimes, he wishes he was different. He wishes he didn't care that much what everyone around him thought and had the courage to just let himself loose. Cat Lad has that luxury, because he always manages to leap away from the consequences. He minutely shakes his head –this is a serious situation, he's face to face to the man who was just chasing him last night, he has to be extra careful not to let anything slip!

On top of that, it'd be nice if he didn't make a complete ass out of himself just because the detective is unfairly attractive and Markus hasn't had a partner ever since starting this whole Cat Lad nonsense.

He manages to keep it together for the fifteen minutes that Connor dedicates to answering his questions and thinks about how glad it is that wind and distance made his voice hard to make out –he'll have to remember to speak at a lower pitch as Cat Lad, if at all.

Predictably, the detective doesn't really disclose any sensitive information, but it gives him peace of mind that there are no suspects so far. "Well, thank you for your time, detective Anderson."

"Please, just Connor. Detective Anderson is _that_ one." The other says, with the tilt of a smile and a nod in Hank's direction. If Markus hadn't been already hooked, he would be now. It's probably a horrible, horrible idea to get a crush on the very man hunting you down, but...

You cannot command your own heart. And neither can you command something _else_ entirely sitting slightly lower than that, it would seem.

"Connor, then." He manages to smile at the detective, and he can only hope it's at least half as charming as he tries to make it. "It was great to meet you. I've known the Lieutenant for a while, but I never had the pleasure..." And what a pleasure indeed. Markus tries as discreetly as he can to give Connor a subtle once-over without making it obvious that he's checking him out. "I guess I'll see you around?"

"Hopefully the next time you'll be interviewing me on how I caught the Cat thief."

The predatory glint in the detective's eyes sends mixed impulses to Markus' brain: on one hand, if this guy actually comes at him with all he got he might have a serious problem, on the other hand... _meow_.

 _'Focus, damn it!'_ Outwardly, he just chuckles and gives a tiny nod. "Perhaps." He concedes simply. "Thank you again."

He actually has to concentrate on walking away to avoid the feline sway he has been slowly getting used to because of the latex tail.

 

"Well... that was something." Hank says from his desk, once Markus is out of sight.

Connor doesn't quite answer, dazed as he is, still staring at the spot Markus just left. "Connor!"

He jumps and turns when he hears his name yelled. "Y-yes sir!"

"Fucking hell, kiddo, I think you left your eyes on that boy."

"I—I did not!" The way he goes immediately scarlet and the stutter in his voice say otherwise. "That would be highly unprofessional."

Hank regards his son with a long, calculating look. "So you're not even one bit curious about him? Shame, I've known him a long time... but if you don't care..."

" _Why_ did you never tell me about him?" It's out of Connor's mouth before he can stop himself, and the Lieutenant struggles not to laugh.

"What am I, your wingman?"

"Have you _seen_ him?!" It's a legitimate question, but it doesn't lessen Hank's amusement. "A simple 'son, you wouldn't believe it, there was this guy with two different colored eyes at the precinct today' would have sufficed!"

Yes, Markus' green and blue eyes definitely made for a startling first impression –even more than the flustered greeting they exchanged... it's not the first time Connor sees people surprised and intimidated by the fact that he is already a detective despite being so young, so it was understandable that the reporter would stumble over his words, especially if he was used to his father's behaviour until now, instead.

But _damn_ , those eyes. And lips. And everything surrounding them, really, like the freckles speckled across what little delicious tanned skin could be seen from the collar of his sweater –and oh god, the soft oversized thing made Connor want to hug him so badly! Or maybe hold his hands, those beautiful slender fingers just barely poking out of the overly long sleeves.

If anyone told him that indulging the demands of the press would have led him to meet such a gorgeous man he'd have started doing so earlier.

He tries to shake himself out of the daze he still is in from the encounter, but every little thing for the rest of the day makes him think of Markus.

Oh well. As far as being grossly unprofessional goes, at least this is better than lusting after a suspect.

 

Despite the carefully vague answers Connor gave him, Markus still comes back to the office with enough material to have a decent piece. And a mere twelve hours after the fact itself! It might be a personal record.

“See?” Simon asks, casually tossing an arm around his friends’ shoulders as the other sits at his desktop to properly draft up his piece, “If I really am whoring you out, it’s clearly just because you’re my top cow.”

“Simon, that is offensive on _so_ many levels.”

“It is?”

Markus holds back a cringe. Simon actually asked that question –he’s not an asshole, and he’s not stupid either, he’s just very frank and has an irreverent sense of humor that is most definitely _not_ for everyone’s taste. He guesses there’s a reason Simon is an editor and _he_ ’s one of the people actually writing things.

“Yes, it is. Don’t make jokes like that to any of the girls.” He warns, just to save himself the shit-storm, “Actually, just… don’t make jokes.”

True to his lax nature in terms of shit coming out of people’s mouth, the blonde doesn’t take offense and he just chuckles. “Hey!” he pretends to protest.

Markus doesn’t even turn from his post. “Shoo, let me finish my piece for your stupid paper.”

The key points he jotted down for the article are:

  * Cat thief is still at large, police investigation has turned out no suspect yet;
  * The latest piece was taken from a private gallery in the heart of one of Detroit’s wealthiest scenes, but they are still waiting to receive a complete purchase history from the owner before they can follow the painting’s tracks;
  * Detroit’s finest are trying different approaches and running a broad search;
  * Detective Connor Anderson believes that careful research will turn up more results than any thoughtless chase;
  * He’s a young but promising individual whose keen eye for patterns and chains of events has already solved more than one uncomfortable case;
  * The Cat thief’s motive is still not clear, and none of the stolen artworks has been sold or attempted to be sold to the force’s knowledge so far.
  * Some speculate that the ‘Cat Lad’ might be an eccentric and overenthusiastic ‘collector’



Those few are more than enough for a decent and not overly opinionated article –he’ll save his own points of view for the editorials that Simon lets him get away with— but he has made a few additional notes for his own private use:

  * The less they know about his motives the better (if they starts digging, his passion for justice might come up and if anyone finds out what Cat Lad’s very first robbery _actually_ was he’s pretty much screwed);
  * Connor’s seen his face so he’ll have to be extra careful to hide it;
  * The asshole gallerist is probably shoving his shady trades under the rug before giving the police a heavily edited ‘purchase history’;
  * It’s just as well, it means the police will still have no hint about his motives or his patterns;
  * He needs to try and stay away from Connor –not only he’s too fucking attractive for his own good, he also seems way too observant to be safe;
  * But then again, when was the last time he did something ‘safe’?



No. Connor is off-limits. There will be _no_ flirting whatsoever, unless he needs to do that to throw the detective off his game as Cat Lad. Shaking his head, he picks up his headphones and blasts cheesy pop-songs in his head to focus on finishing his article.

Markus actually sighs in relief when he finally closes his apartment door behind his back. What a day, to follow up with the night he had. He is tired, but not quite ready to drop into bed just yet… smirking to himself, he goes to sit at his pride and joy: the vintage piano he managed to recover and re-tune from an old music store.

His window is already open, and once he starts tickling the ivories to [a tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAr3RT7k7lQ) that he now knows by heart, his nightly little visitors start coming.

There’s [Pepper](http://monacocattery.com/wp-content/gallery/amiel-goshen-ivan-the-great/dsc_0099.jpg), the Egyptian Mau with black spots all over, she’s actually not a stray and her owners live a couple blocks down, but she clearly is a lady of adventure… also, her boyfriend is a stray –[Lucifer](http://hd.wallpaperswide.com/thumbs/odd_eyed_cat-t2.jpg), an odd-eyed white cat with a big black spot over just one ear (needless to say, he feels a strong kinship with good old Lucifer). Then there is [Fuji and Sebastian](https://static.boredpanda.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/adopted-cats-sleeping-together-hammock-barnaby-stoche-18.jpg)… Markus doesn’t quite know what the deal with the black and the yellow cat is, but they’re inseparable. They may or may not be gay for each other.

“Heya, guys.” He greets, as the little ones make themselves comfortable. Lucifer even climbs the piano to go and be the first to rub his nose against Markus’ face. “Tough day? Yeah, me too…”

He stretches in his seat and stands up to go get the cat food. It’s challenging, with four balls of fur hopping around your legs, but he manages.  “Yes, yes, it’s coming, jeez!” chastising doesn’t really work on cats, and eventually they get what they want anyway, so Markus can really do nothing but watch them and smile. “I met a cute guy today. Of course it’s just my luck that he’s a detective, and the one who has to hunt me down specifically, no less.”

Is he talking about his crush to cats? Shit, he is.

The moment he realizes he may or may not be the male, younger version of a crazy cat lady is also the moment Markus decides that maybe he should stop talking to felines and go fix _himself_ some dinner, too.

They’re great company, he’s gotta admit. Sure, he still hangs out with North –she’s his partner in crime, after all— and he’s sociable enough with his coworkers, but… leading a double life inevitably makes you a bit of a lone wolf. Markus won’t admit it to a single soul, but he’s actually pretty grateful that sometimes Lucifer decides to stay the night and meows at him until he lets him on the foot of the bed.

It makes the nights in Detroit a little less cold.

 

As his –non-existent– luck would have it, he manages to lay low for all of _one week_.

But he couldn’t stay away: the masterpiece of a recently deceased artist is unjustly claimed by the exhibition that was hosting it instead of being given back to the family of the late painter, and the organizers are getting away with it on a technicality. The painting is said to be put up on auction to ‘share the memory of his genius with the world’; and Markus nearly wants to vomit.

 _«_ _Are you going to get it back to the family?_ _»_ North asks, as he puts her on speaker.

“Do you even have to ask, luv? Of _course_ I’m going to.”

She laughs on the other end of the line –he’s suiting up, she can tell: his speech pattern changes slightly and he starts giving people pet names. The costume brings out a side of Markus that, really, he should let himself feel every now and then. And to think that North originally chose the cat-suit just to see if he’d actually wear the thing. And get some eye candy in the process, but details.

Guys may not be her thing, but she’s a connoisseur of fine things. And oh boy that costume is a _fine_ thing.

_«Well, be careful, ok? I still think you should have a weapon, just in case.»_

“You already gave me clawed gloves, North.” He still doesn’t really understand why, he’s never had any use for them and he doesn’t plan in engaging in full-contact combat with anyone, “Plus, we’ve talked about this already: no violence.”

She gives him a long, suffering sigh. _«Fine. But try not to get your head blown off.»_

For what it’s worth, Markus knows she means well and worries about him, and it still brings a smile to his face as he moves to grab the keys to his motorcycle.

 

He parks several blocks away from the auction venue and goes through the rooftops the rest of the way.

Breaking into the venue through the service access is easy. Faking a malfunction to the electrical lines and killing the lights is easy. Nicking the canvas right from the stage it was being auctioned off of is… nerve-wracking, but also a matter of seconds.

Running out the backdoor and almost getting run over by the patrol car speeding into the place is… not surprising, all things considered. “Shit!” he manages to leap back before getting nicked by the side of the car, and he’s already sprinting towards the cleanest routes he had scouted out.

“You’re not getting away this time!!!”

Connor. Of course –he did mention something like ‘always accomplishing his mission sooner or later’. Against his better judgement, Markus bites at his lower lip and lets out a chuckle as he starts the climb. “Wanna bet, _tiger?_ ”

“Damn it! Follow us on the ground and try to keep up, I’ll take the rooftops!”

God he sounds so hot while he barks orders at the other officers. The thought nearly makes the thief lose his grip, but luckily he has enough sense to actually focus on making his escape.

Connor is relentless, and Markus finds himself actually twisting and winding his way around to try and tire the detective out –before now, no one ever found out how he disappears from the scene, but if the detective keeps behind him this well he might find the motorcycle… granted, it’s a common, inexpensive model and he removes the licence plate whenever he goes out as Cat Lad, but still.

This guy is making more progress in two encounters than the entire fucking DPD in well over two years.

Connor knows a wild goose chase when he sees one –very clever, trying to tire him out. He can understand how Hank would give up following after a while, what with his age and less than perfect physical fitness. Cat Lad obviously does this a lot, and he has the advantage of being the one running away, meaning he expends less energy since he doesn’t have to stop short and restart every few seconds to try and figure out where his opponent is going.

He also may or may not be a bit distracted by Cat Lad’s rather physically blessed form –the detective has to shake out of his head the thought that he is literally _chasing that ass across town_.

“Stop!!!” he tries to holler out, in one moment where he’s actually almost close enough to grab the crazy bastard by the tail, but the thief rolls sideways and grabs onto a gutter to slide down it, even as it bends and detaches slightly from the wall under his weight. “Damn it!”

“Nice try, _tiger_ , but it takes more than that to catch me!” Cat Lad calls after him, and Connor almost feels like drawing his gun. Almost— none of the catlike thief’s robberies have ever had any casualty or even minor injuries, he never threatened anyone or taken hostages, all of his hits are stealthy, clean and strictly non-violent. The crazy rooftop stunts are really the only reckless thing about him. So no, even though shooting him in the leg would probably be the _only_ way to get that fucker stop running, Connor will not stoop so low –not only it’s immoral _and_  illegal, he also has some degree of respect for someone who goes out of the way not to hurt others, criminal or not.

He still tries to run down the emergency stairs as fast as he can, but aside from the shouts of the bystanders who have probably seen Cat Lad land wherever he ended up, Connor rounds the corner to find only empty space and drunk college students about to go bar-hopping some more.

It’s worth a try. “Hey! A man just jumped off this building, did you see where he went?”

Immediately, he receives several reactions:

“No, but did you see his abs?” one of the girls says, promptly interrupted by another:

“Don’t you mean ass?”

“That too…”

“My God I took a creepshot of him, wanna see?”

Connor fights the urge to slap himself in the face –they’re not wrong, but this is _not the time_. He looks to one of the guys in the group, hoping he’s straight and didn’t get distracted by the sight of a beautiful man dressed like a stripper

“Uh…”

Fuck it, he has no time for this. He pulls out his badge. “This is a police investigation. Anything you’ve seen, _please_ tell me.”

“I don’t know, man, he went kinda that way, but after that I didn’t see.”

And of course, in the time he’s spent trying to question these people, Cat Lad has all but vanished into the night. Again.

 “Scour the area.” He calls into his radio, “Let’s look for any traces he might have left behind, a vehicle or tracks. No one can just up and disappear, he _had_ to have a getaway planned somewhere.”

Mission failed, for now, Connor catches his breath after the chase and leans his back against the wall, taking a few minutes to rest his sore legs before going back to his men. This feels like a two steps forwards, one step back kind of situation –and it’s not going to look pretty if it makes the news again. Markus’ article was very diplomatic and spoke of him in flattering terms, but still… he should at least have _something_ by now.

But hey… there’s _one_ positive thing about this whole misadventure –if the case does make the news again, he might meet the insanely attractive reporter again.

Provided the paper sends the same person, which doesn’t always happen, but hey. A guy can dream.

Hopefully he can still manage to impress Markus with his tales, even if he hasn’t yet caught his nemesis… after all, the chase is on, and this is only the beginning.


	3. Back and Forth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You got that from the sex shop, too, didn’t you, North?” 
> 
> “Well, yeah!” 
> 
> Markus doesn't even know why he's surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS AU IS BEAUTIFUL AND SO ARE THE PEOPLE WHO INSPIRED ME TO DO IT.
> 
> We even have an [Official Cover Art](http://drawinggheys.tumblr.com/post/177955128035/because-great-things-spawn-from-the-rk1k-server) by the lovely Sam. ♥
> 
> And so, so much more going on.
> 
> Just. Take this.  
> I have to go get groceries. Rip me.
> 
> I love you all.

It starts becoming a thing. Connor is there whenever Markus gets wind of a job, either through the art section of his paper or through Carl –he feels terrible about his own father being an unknowing informant, but as a famous painter, Carl has a lot of friends in the scene, both among the struggling artists he tries to promote and support, and among the wealthy and influential assholes who treat art as a way to make more money than they already have.

Their chases are always nerve-wracking, but he has to admit, at least to himself… he kind of enjoys them; there’s something in the detective’s relentless pursuit that makes him feel alive, burning with an excitement he wouldn’t even have dreamed of, had he had a normal, dull life. He calls it ‘the thrill of the chase’. North says he just has a danger kink.

He isn’t sure she’s wrong, but still pretends to take offense.

“I mean, come on… you clearly like playing with fire!” she says, sitting in the armchair in his living room with Pepper on her lap enjoying some cuddles while Lucifer sleeps on the piano, “Though, you know… it might be a good idea to get close to this detective… you’d always be a step ahead of him and he wouldn’t know how.”

True… but Markus would feel terrible about stringing him along solely to have the upper hand on this. “I can’t afford the risk that comes with.” He rationalizes instead, slipping on a pair of sweatpants after getting the last bits of the suit out –for all the tight look, it’s surprisingly easy to slide off. It probably shouldn’t be _that_ surprising, considering the suit’s original… purpose.

North lets it drop in favor of helping her friend patch himself up. “Your back is all scraped again.”

Latex doesn’t tear easily, but enough friction or impact can break the skin underneath regardless. “I may or may not have slid down a dumbwaiter to escape.”

This time, his prize was a sculpture that had been a family heirloom for years but that due to ‘circumstances’ ended up as a decorative piece in a hotel –a hotel owned, funnily enough, by the same people responsible for the family business' declining fortune. North sighs and shakes her head, leaning over to get the antiseptic and cotton balls from the coffee table while Pepper still sleeps on her thighs.

“You shouldn’t let your detective get so close.” She chastises, getting to work while Markus sits cross-legged on the floor in front of her and just enjoys having his back rubbed –heh, after two years and change spent in a cat-suit, he’s become quite catlike.

“Not like I mean to…” true to that, his voice goes low and relaxed and he closes his eyes –not even the sting of the disinfectant as she patches up his wounds is enough to stir him.

“Still. It proves my point! You need a weapon!”

“ _No violence_ , North. It’s my only rule.”

She presses on one of the scrapes a little too hard and he hisses as she insists: “What about self-defence, huh?”

She’s not completely wrong. Not all policemen are going to be as sporting as Connor is, and they have guns. He’d still prefer not to have the headache of needing to calculate the risk of hurting others as well. “…fine.” He eventually concedes, “ _If_ you manage to find me something purely defensive and non-lethal, I’ll consider it.”

“Challenge accepted, bitch.” She declares proudly, applying the last plaster he needed on his back and patting him on the shoulder twice to let him know she’s done. Markus may or may not have made a mistake trusting her with this –no doubt she’s either going to procure him something dangerous, or something absolutely absurd and embarrassing. He’ll still let her go to town with it, knowing it’s her way to care. He leans back into her slightly when her hands don’t leave his shoulders, eyes still closed.

“You gonna work tomorrow?”

“No, thank God.” Markus flops on even more bonelessly against his dear friend –when you spend most of your nights being sore all over from parkouring around rooftops, you come to enjoy gentle pets and don’t care if the person giving them teases you for being a cat slut. “I’m going to sleep in and then go visit Carl.”

She breaks into a smile softer than her general demeanor would let people believe. “Then I should leave you to your _catnap_.”

“Haha, fuck you too.”

“You know you’re not my type, _hot stuff_.” It’s always like that between them. Markus calls North the little sister he never wanted; she calls him her gay disaster of a brother. Reluctantly picking up the still sleepy Pepper and setting her back down on the armchair, North takes her leave.

 

Connor just had one of his worst nights yet. He got called to a private event held at a five star hotel because the Cat Lad was spotted stealing a goddamn sculpture –the thing itself wasn’t to terribly large, about arm’s length in height and no more than half that in its widest point, portraying [two figures dancing together](https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/k2wAAOSwHHFY-Tet/s-l500.jpg)… what baffled the detective upon arrival is how the _hell_ did the thief manage to bubble-wrap the thing in the few seconds of darkness that ensued upon killing the lights?!

He didn’t have the time to ponder it when he arrived, just in time to spot the latex-clad figure slide out a window and heave up onto the balcony overhead.

One-armed, because the other one was busy holding his prize.

That right there is a man who works out a lot.

Needless to say, Connor pushed the traitorous thought at the very back of his mind and threw himself to the chase –he almost managed to corner Cat Lad by not letting him reach the roof, and he would have caught him had the crazy motherfucker not thrown the dumbwaiter open, ripped the food tray from inside it and dived down the thing, all the way from the 7th floor down.

The detective managed to see sparks flying from the friction Cat Lad’s clawed gloves made against the metal ropes. He tried radioing his partner and the other patrol to look out for the staff exits, but all they found was a small handwritten note scrawled on the staff time-sheet:

_~Until next time, tiger~_

Hm. His opponent either slipped up or is getting cocky –calligraphy is a hint. Or rather, it would be if he had even a hint of a suspect. They’ve been scouring the black market, but not only no one knows where the hell the pieces stolen by Cat Lad end up, they seem to know _of_ him but not really have anything on the man: he hasn’t contacted anyone, no one commissioned him, he doesn’t sell, or buy.

Still. Connor will find him sooner or later, even if he has to check the penmanship of every single person he sees. He’s still obsessing over the piece of paper even back at the station.

“Would you look at that! You getting’ love notes from perps, dipshit?”

Oh God, he doesn’t have the energy to deal with this asshole. “That’s _evidence_ , detective Reed.”

“Evidence that you’re chasing after a piece of ass, maybe.” The other man snorts derisively, “Tell me, does it sting that you’re stuck running after the strip-club freak instead of doing _real_ detective work?”

“You mean picking up the slack that _none_ of the other units was able to take?” Connor retorts, reaching out to snatch the plastic envelope from Reed’s fingers, “Making contact with the suspect that _no one_ was ever even able to _see_ up close? No, I can’t say it bothers me.” He concludes with a smile entirely too polite for the force he stood with, “Now, don’t you have cases to pretend you’re actually doing work on?”

“…fuck this.” Gavin Reed has never been fond of him –more than once he tried to imply that Connor only works at the station because of his father, but the sad truth is that he bitter detective is simply jealous of the boy that aced his way through both academy and training and made a name for himself as a brilliant young detective in the span of six months, almost without breaking a sweat.

Fowler’s little golden boy. Gavin is clearly happy that this Cat thief keeps escaping –it’s the one stain on Connor’s perfect little record.

Well, fuck him too.

At least he managed to move things _a little_ forward. One of the girls on the auction night mentioned having taken a picture of Cat Lad, so the detective ran a quick search… lo and behold the eccentric thief has quite the internet following. It’s mostly young college girls and high schoolers fawning over his looks –understandable— but Connor hopes _something_ will eventually in the occasional, usually blurry pictures that lucky bystander catch on their smartphones will serve to identify the elusive man.

It’s worth keeping an eye on, at the very least.

His phone buzzes on his desk. It’s Hank.

_Kiddo I s2g if you’re pulling another all-nighter I’m having Fowler remove you from the case._

The very idea has him hastily replying that he’s going home right now and he’ll text when he’s at his apartment. He knows Fowler wouldn’t just do that, Connor is the one who made the most progress with this case so far, but parental figures have a way of obtaining what they want, so he’d rather not risk it.

Plus, getting some much needed sleep might actually be good.

 

“Ah, there you are! Guess where you’re going, today!”

“Damn it, Simon, I barely even clocked in.” Markus shakes his head, knowing full well this is about the other night’s shenanigans. It’s good that he’s had a day off in between –his back isn’t so sore anymore and he stopped limping. So he should be clear of suspicion from Connor as well. There have been a few times he’s seen the detective look at him with strangely inquisitive expressions; and those have not been fun times.

He immediately starts obsessing over whether something is showing, a tell-tale bruise, or something he said, and in turn he becomes even more awkward than he already is. Officer Miller already makes fun of his gigantic crush, and old man Anderson is probably onto him too.

Not to mention Simon. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re not eager to go see your detective boyfriend…”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Simon.” He deadpans with a sigh –they’ve had this conversation several times already.

“Aww, but it’d be so cute. You could be the Lois Lane to his Superman!”

Markus breaks out in laughter, and he _almost_ remarks that, please, if anyone is to go around in skin-tight suits, that’d be him. He just barely manages to hold that back. “Stop thinking about superhero porn, we’ve got work to do.”

Visiting Carl has definitely been a good idea –he has a strict rule: no Cat Lad business around his elderly, frail-bodied father. Which not only serves to keep Carl safe and blessedly unaware, but also gives him a chance to have a proper rest and not always pull crazy hours while trying to balance his day job and nightly adventures.

Mercifully, he manages to convince his editor to let him do actual writing and send a few things for review before printing; before he actually gets booted towards the station.

To think he started there by critiquing pieces in the art and entertainment section. He is now halfway to turning into an investigative journalist –albeit, at least, it’s still connected to art.

He takes a big breath upon reaching the station, and crosses the glass doors. “Hello, officer Miller.”

“Hello, Markus.” The policeman chuckles out his greeting, not even bothering with guiding him through the lobby anymore as he just leans inside to yell: “Hey, Anderson! Your boyfriend’s here!”

Connor stands from his desk and crosses the entire station with a hand over his eyes. “Ignore them.” He says, once he reaches Markus in the reception area, “They’re a bunch of jaded, bitter old men who make fun of all things young and beautiful.”

Markus shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but Connor’s words have a direct implication and he just. Can’t help it: “So you _do_ think I’m beautiful?”

The pure exasperation in the detective’s groan is too amusing for his own good. “Not you, too! I trusted you!”

Markus hides his laughter behind a hand. “Okay, sorry! Just joking.”

“D’awww, you guys are adorable.”

“Shut up, Chris!” Connor seems quite pissed today. He sighs and shakes his head. “Tell you what. It was going to be my break soon, anyway. Let’s get out of here so we can talk in peace.”

 

And that’s how they end up walking side by side down the road, pondering where to stop for a quick bite and a quick chat –strictly professional, of course.

“Oh, that place is good! They make shepherd’s pie!” Markus points out a tiny little diner around a street corner, and Connor raises an eyebrow.

“You… come here often?”

The journalist has to bite his tongue to avoid pointing out how that sounds like the start of a pick-up line –which immediately makes him nervous about keeping down the whole flirty persona and he shrugs his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller. “Ah— I actually live around here… that over there is my apartment complex.”

“You’re telling me we’re almost neighbors and never ran into each other before?” Connor guesses it can happen –they do not live in the exact same block and have very different working hours. Well, a detective doesn’t really have working hours, their schedule is levels of fucked up that are second only to ER doctors’.

“Truly, a miscarriage of justice.” Markus comments, just barely biting at his lower lip and then immediately reining it back in _–woah there, your cat is showing_. He clears his voice. “I— I mean… I’m happy I got to meet you, at least.” God, that sounds horribly cheesy. “Um—”

Connor placates him by placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Markus, really.” He assures, gentle and polite like he never is while chasing Cat Lad, “You don’t have to second guess every word you say to me just because I’m in the force.”

Oh, _tiger_ , bless your unaware little heart. Markus nods shakily, glad to have dodged that bullet. “Okay. Sorry.”

“And don’t apologize; you’re good as you are.”

_Am I, though? You don’t look at me holding the same fire you look at Cat Lad with when you chase me at night._

Woah, where the hell did that thought come from?!

Connor _doesn’t_ have a thing for his alter ego…

…does he?

That would be… intriguing. No! _Bad_ kitty! When will you learn?! Paws off the hot detective! One wrong move, one slip-up, and you end up in _jail_! He clears his voice and shakes himself out of all the _possibilities_. “We should… just go in and grab a bite. I’m sure your break time is precious to you.”

“I don’t mind spending it with you.” It’s out of Connor’s mouth before he can hold it back and he just— he nearly wants to bash his own head against the nearest wall.

Markus is too cute for him to handle, a literal boy next door –he’s got everything: the looks, the smile, he’s sweet, caring and intelligent… everything the detective has been looking for in a partner and never found. They’ve known each other for the better part of a month, now, and Connor pondered about asking him out several time. And yet. Something holds him back.

For one, it’d be unprofessional, considering both their involvement in the same investigation.

He also rationalizes it by telling himself that his work as a detective, especially with this open case taking up so much of his time, would make any relationship he tries to start subject to too much strain to actually work –he is _not_ secretly obsessed with the panther in black spandex that haunts the dreams that wake him up sweating and panting as if he was a teenager all over again, he just wants to see that thief _cuffed and delivered to justice_ , so he’ll be able to fucking move _on_ with his life and finally ask out the sweet, slightly awkward but oh so tempting boy right in front of his eyes.

For now, he guesses a little casual flirting can’t hurt, especially if Markus’ freckled cheeks take on such a lovely blush.

They spend almost the full 45 minutes discussing the case, Markus jotting down notes with his left hand as he ate with the right one –in a spur of the moment irrationality, Connor subtly glanced down at the journalist’s notepad. It would be an almost comic-book cliché… but no. The penmanship is completely different from the one of the note he’s been fixating over for the past 24 hours.

As usual, his time with the journalist literally serves to soothe Connor’s soul. Markus is so gentle, and so compassionate, that the detective feels like a better person just being near him –and he _still_ apologizes for ‘taking away his lunch break’, as if Connor hadn’t just spent his whole time staring at Markus’ unfairly pretty eyes.

They’re walking the short way back when something falls seemingly out of the sky and nearly careens into him. Battling the initial shock and the panic at having a hissing, furry thing fall on his head from the sky, Connor manages to wrestle the thing off his face.

It’s a _cat_.

He’s starting to hate cats, and he’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual, considering the small feline scratches his hand, making him let go as it lands gracefully on the asphalt.

“Lucifer!” Markus exclaims suddenly, and… well, it does behave like a beast from hell but maybe it’s a bit much to call it that. Connor can almost feel his own iq drop when he realizes Lucifer is the actual name of the cat, judging by the way it comes when called. “I’m so sorry, Connor, he normally doesn’t attack people like that… he must have smelled the food.”

Right, they just came from a place that served meat based dishes. Also, he probably has the smell of Hank’s Saint Bernard all over his clothes. Sumo is a good boy. Not like this little hellion, that…

…that is now letting himself placidly be picked up by Markus, who cradles it to his chest and lets it give little licks at his nose.

If it was possible to die of cuteness, Connor would be six feet under right now. “Is it your cat?”

“Hm?” the journalist turns to look at him while rubbing his cheek against the cat’s muzzle and Connor _can’t_ handle it. Okay, maybe he doesn’t hate cats after all. “Oh, no. Well… technically not. He’s part of a little pack that roams the neighbourhood, and sometimes I feed them. They come in through my balcony whenever I play piano.”

Is it possible for Markus to be even cuter? Connor shouldn’t ask himself the question. “Ah. That’s very kind hearted of you.”

“Says the one whose literal job is to serve and protect.”

And who wouldn’t want to protect that smile? So warm and soft, the detective would love nothing more than take Markus in his arms and place him in the safest place ever –possibly his bed. With him on top. And no clothes involved.

He’s actually quite curious of what is hiding under the baggy clothes the journalist seems to always be swimming in.

“Do you want to pet him?” the question startles him from his less than pure musings, but he still shakes his head.

“I… don’t think he likes me very much.”

Markus’ little laugh is so sweet. “Come on… he usually likes anyone I like.”

 _Does that mean you like me, Markus?_ It’s on the tip of his tongue, but… he can’t bring himself to say it. It’s ridiculous, they’ve talked a lot over the past month, they’ve discussed both deep and mundane issues, aside from the strictly business related information they exchange, and have flirted, sometimes quite blatantly, on several occasions. Connor _still_ can’t muster up the guts to say anything. “…okay.” He says meekly, and gets cautiously closer to pet the white cat in Markus’ arms.

Lucifer lets him.

For about two seconds. Then he lets out a hiss, scrambles out of Markus’ arms hard enough to yank him forward, leaps over Connor’s shoulder and disappears into the surrounding alleyways.

The detective would ponder the irony of cats always getting away from him, but he’s busy with a whole lot of flustered Markus that just got jostled into his arms.

“Sorry, I just—”

“It’s okay, let me—”

Connor helps the other steady himself back, holding him by the arms –Markus has a surprisingly strong arm, despite the appearances. It makes him even _more_ curious.

Markus is mortified even though he assures the journalist multiple times that he didn’t mind, at all, and then he also assures that he’s not mad at Lucifer, who apparently is  ‘never like that’.

Connor talks about Sumo, the big hairy drool factory that his father calls a dog, aka the best boy ever, and things make slightly more sense –Lucifer probably smelled Sumo on Connor and felt in danger. By the time they reach the station they’re already laughing about it.

“Well… you’ll make the news again, detective Anderson.” Markus remarks, smiling at the other with just a hint of playfulness.

“Oh please, keep my name to a minimum; the guys are already making fun of me.” Connor protests with a chuckle.

“I’ll limit myself to citing you as a source, promise.” In the past few times, Markus has struggled with keeping his personal opinion on Connor out of his pieces, and even though he very carefully kept the praise to a minimum –especially considering that the investigation is still far from producing results— it stands to fact that at least the people at the DPD have noticed his seamless admiration for the young detective.

And he does admire Connor.

He’s dedicated, he works hard to protect people, he always tries to do the right thing… they’d make a great team, if only they were on the same side.

 

It’s a thought that actually follows him all the way to his next ‘job’. Possibly the highest value heist yet –a jewel. Something that came from overseas and was bought off a community that held it as a local treasure in exchange for funds and humanitarian help. Which is just plain disgusting; he’s sure that if Connor knew the truth about the buyers he wouldn’t bother coming after him for this.

The jewel itself is little more than a rough crystal –a big, uncleaned [emerald piece](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nxpz3MiAjPY/WE6oqFl0_zI/AAAAAAAAD-w/nSqadtYK2o4ijKFHo6fEcRWqwx89a0RLwCLcB/s1600/2452467.jpg) cut into geometric shape… what’s really notable about it is that it’s almost as big as a man’s face.

“So.” North tells him as she gets him ready, “I’ll hide your motorcycle on the next block over to the museum, and go make sure that the gate to the abandoned playground is not locked.”

That’s the secret behind Cat Lad’s ability to disappear into seemingly thin air: a good partner in crime and a disused park that houses an abandoned playground full of overgrown weeds and a likewise deserted custodian’s hut. North goes around sunset to check that the area is still accessible and leave him a change of clothes. “Thanks, luv.” She’s a blessing, really. “Anything else I’m forgetting?”

“Oh, right!” She excitedly reaches into her duffel to pull something wrapped in velvet. It already does not bode well before she even unwraps it. “Here’s your non-lethal, defensive middle-distance weapon!”

It’s a whip. A 150cm long leather and latex _whip._ Markus doesn’t even know why he’s surprised. “You got that from the sex shop, too, didn’t you?” he asks in a deadpan, not even stopping getting ready and zipping up the front of his suit.

“Well, yeah!” North exclaims, as if he was particularly dumb for asking, “It’s made for actual bdsm, so this bitch _hurts_ , but it also complies with health and safety regulations, so you can’t kill a bitch with it unless you use it to strangle.”

That is… relieving to know. Markus has no plans of strangling anyone any time soon, but… all things considered, a whip will be very useful in getting some distance. Then he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror just before he secures the mask and collar in place.

“…goddamn it, I’m a sex cat-boy.”

North doubles over in laughter. “The sacrifices you make, for _justice_.” She says theatrically, handing him the whip.

He takes it and fastens it to his belt loop.

She’s kind of right.

Breaking into a museum isn’t as easy as it is for private properties, and Markus actually goes for the skylines, because there’s cctv everywhere on ground level, and he actually has to lower himself through an elevator shaft.

This is a whole new level of risky.

And really, he should have guessed that tampering with a museum’s electrical panel would have sent out an alarm. It still startles him when it starts blaring everywhere, and he makes quick work of picking the glass case’s lock and grab the emerald to wrap it in cloth and put it in his carrier tube –he probably only has a few minutes left to figure out an escape route and—

“Freeze, Detroit Police!”

For one moment, he does freeze. “Well hello there, tiger~”

“Put that back, it doesn’t belong to you!”

Oh, Connor. The earnest way he says that almost breaks Markus’ heart. “Neither does it to this museum.” He can’t help but say, “It belongs to the people who hold it sacred.”

“And you stealing it for yourself says what?” the detective retorts, taking a step closer. “Just desserts? Poetic justice?” He’s closer still. Too close. Markus pulls out the whip and lashes out once.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” he tuts, “Now _that_ would be telling, wouldn’t it?” with not much choice, he climbs above the display case and claws open the ventilation shaft on the ceiling, before winking at the detective. “I _don’t_ kiss and tell, _tiger~_ ”

“What the—”

“Shit, what the _hell_ are we chasing?” Connor’s designated partner, officer Wilson, never saw Cat Lad’s crazy stunts up close, so seeing a grown ass man in a latex cat suit heave himself upside down and into a ventilation shaft leaves him understandably flabbergasted.

Connor is still reeling from the fact that he just very nearly got _whipped in the chest_ , had he not jumped back at the last second. Surely there are a lot of practical and investigative considerations to make about the presence of a weapon, but all that Connor’s head has got so far is _fuck, that’s hot._

They can hear the metal vibration of combat boots crawling along the ceiling, and the detective shakes himself out of his dazed surprise. “He’s going for the elevator shaft, he wants to escape through the rooftops!” he exclaims, ripping off his blazer and tie and running towards the service stairs –that’s gonna be one hell of a run, he’ll need as much freedom of movement as possible, “Call it in! Get the closest patrol to come on site from the back!”

Running up fourteen flights of stairs takes a lot of time and leaves Connor nearly breathless, but then again he figures that climbing an elevator shaft with your bare hands also must have taken a lot out of Cat Lad… he does find the thief breathing hard enough that his chest heaves dramatically with every inhale –and that suit leaves _nothing_ to the imagination, every single muscle on his torso can be seen expand and contract.

“Alright, hold it!” _done_ with this bullshit, Connor pulls out his gun, hoping to intimidate the thief into giving up.

Deceptively obedient, Cat Lad does raise his hands. “We both know you’re not going to shoot me, _tiger~_ ”

“You’re _testing_ me.”

The low chuckle that leaves the thief’s lips does absolutely filthy things to Connor’s libido. _Not. The. Time._ “Ooh~” Cat Lad mocks in fake excitement. “Nice try, handsome, but we both know you’re all about the rules.” Before Connor can ask what that’s supposed to mean, the other turns his back on him. “…and it’s illegal to shoot at someone who’s running away with their back to you.”

He looks back just enough to blow him another kiss and leap onto the scaffolding standing against the part of the building that was undergoing renovation.

_«Reed here! Where’s this motherfucker?»_

Out of all the people to come help—

No, ok, they are professionals –Connor answers the radio call. He can do this. “Scaling down the east side, corner him! I’ll come the opposite way, we can choke him out!”

Markus is surprised and mildly worried about yet another person willing to chase him down uncomfortable places. Connor is likely coming from the left side to  try and cut him off, and this other guy almost ran him over at the scaffolding. He dives into the nearest alleyway too tight to fit a police car, running all the way into it before cursing himself for not looking –a dead end. Well, almost, the way is blocked by a metal fence; he could either pick it or scale it, but it requires time he doesn’t have.

“Don’t you fucking move, freak!”

Damn it. He looks around even as the unknown officer approaches him –hm. It’s quite dark, one street lamp and then almost pitch black… he doesn’t exactly have night vision goggles, but he’s used to wandering around in the dark. This could work.

“Hello. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure…” he says, almost languidly uncoiling the whip from his belt.

“Don’t get cute with me, you freak! Hands up or I’ll fucking shoot.”

Oh. What a shame, he’s an asshole. “You ask so nicely.” He teases, raising his right hand brusquely up and out. The whip cracks through the night, and with it the shattering sound of a street lamp getting blown out.

“Ssshhhhh.” The alleyway plunges into darkness, and Markus doesn’t hold back a chuckle, taunting this intruder that thinks he can shoulder in into his and Connor’s game.

“What the shit?!” yep, not a man who’s used to pulling long hours. “Where the fuck is he—”

Markus is ultimately a pacifist, but he feels absolutely zero remorse as he cracks his whip from the shadows at this fucker’s legs. The grunt of pain and the sound of a body hitting the asphalt tell the Cat Lad he more than hit his mark. Metal clattering away also tells him that the man lost his gun in surprise – _also_ a good thing.

“Show yourself, you fucking freak!!!”

Again, with that word. The officer charges into the darkness, but Markus anticipates him, sidesteps and cracks his whip again, this time on the back.

“You know, filthy mouths like yours _deserve_ a lashing.” He says, not even regretting the fact that by speaking he pretty much revealed his position.

A punch gets thrown in his direction, but Markus grabs it, puts himself into the man's space, lifts and flips. Then, just to be on the safe side, he leaps back and cracks the whip again. It doesn’t sound like the groaning figure on the floor is getting up any time soon. He busies himself with scaling the metal fence.

“Reed! What the hell is happening! Leave radio contact _open_ when you’re on the chase, damn it!”

Ah, _there’s_ his favorite detective. “Sorry, tiger, we got… interrupted.” He whispers when he catches Connor’s eye thanks to the detective’s flashlight pointing straight at him, “You might want to tend to your colleague, I’ve got places to be~”

In the span of time Connor spends pointing his flashlight at Reed’s prone form; Cat Lad disappears once more into the darkness. There’s no sounds around them save for the distant murmur of the rest of the patrol scrambling to the search and the far off roars of the occasional car out in the streets.

 

Predictably, Fowler is not happy with either of them. “What the fuck happened, Reed?!”

“I almost had him!” the detective protests, prompting Connor to scoff in distaste.

“The only thing you _had_ was your sorry ass handed to you!” Gavin is probably gonna try and make his life a living hell for this, but it’s worth saying it in front of the captain: “This is why you keep radio contact _on_ when you’re on the chase. If you’d given me your position it would’ve been two on one!”

“And you would have liked that, huh, you freak-fucker?”

He did _not_ just imply what Connor thinks he just did. “Choose your next words carefully, Reed.” He says calmly, voice going stone cold, “Or you’re gonna be getting your ass beat twice in the same night.”

“Enough!!!” Fowler eventually roars, addressing Connor first: “You— get back on the case.” And then Gavin. “And you— this is not over. Play _with_ the team or there’s gonna be a disciplinary hearing. Got it?”

Both detectives stand at attention. “Yes sir.” They say in unison.

“Good, now get the fuck out of my office.” The Captain deflates. “What a clusterfuck.”

Privately, Connor agrees.

He probably shouldn’t feel so satisfied that Cat Lad considers him and only him a worthy opponent, but the piece of paper that fluttered down from seemingly nowhere as he helped Reed up back in the alley still made him feel irrationally validated.

_Net time, let’s make it just you and me, tiger~_

 


	4. Not so innocent, after all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"...holy shit, I'm a fucking meme."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING THIS GOT WILDLY AWAY FROM ME.
> 
> I ran a quick spell check but there's probably tons of mistakes still.  
> Just take it.  
> I just  
> I don't know.
> 
> But hey, rooftop sex incoming?  
> EDIT: PLEASE WATCH THE RATINGS AND TAGS.  
> Nothing has started yet, but there will be sexual content and what could classify as mild bdsm in the next chapter.  
> You have been warned.  
> Yay!

 

The night air is crisp and biting against the exposed skin of his chest –really, if he hasn’t fallen sick in the past few years, speeding around on a motorcycle with only a latex bodysuit on, he’s basically immortal by now. He comes to a stop in the abandoned park, hiding the bike in the overgrown shrubbery and sneaking into the disused custodian’s hut to find the duffel North left for him and change his clothes.

Holy _shit_ , that was close! It’s a good thing he spent 70% of his childhood horse riding, thanks to Carl and his love for the countryside. They went almost every summer before the accident… he never really used it on the horses, but his instructor was very strict and still insisted he master the use of the crop.

The whip is longer and less rigid, but the method is largely the same.

Not that it would have mattered against that one asshole, whatever his name was… he could have flailed the stupid thing around with his other hand tied behind his back and still he’d have beaten that jerk –the important thing is that it’s given him the upper hand on Connor, if only by catching him off-guard.

He smiles to himself. The poor dear was so shocked –he already wears fetish clothing, wielding a fetish weapon must have been the nail in that particular type of coffin. Plus, and more worryingly, it cemented what Markus has already started to suspect in the past month or so: Connor really is sexually attracted to Cat Lad.

The moment he almost whipped the detective in the chest was also the first time he saw open, unbridled arousal in Connor’s big brown eyes… and it confuses the hell out of Markus: on one hand, it’s all very intriguing, a literal cat and mouse game, blatantly flirting with the enemy and the cat in him wanting to play with a fire that should be left alone but is just too good to pass up; on the other hand… Connor knows him as himself as well. And while there definitely is _something_ there going on between them –they haven’t talked about it, but it’s there, in every little look, every little reaction for each time someone makes the boyfriend joke at the station— his detective does not look at Markus with the same raw _want_ he displays for Cat Lad.

To make matters worse, Markus also feels terrible for hiding who he really is from Connor: he doesn’t seem like the type who would carelessly go after two different guys, so putting him in that kind of position is all levels of unfair.

He finishes pulling his sweater over his head –ah, much comfier and warmer– and makes a resolution: he will step up his game as Markus, and see if he can manage to make Connor forget all about Cat Lad.

 

Connor has no intention of forgetting about Cat Lad any time soon –he _will_ catch this guy and slam him behind bars, if it’s the last thing he does.

After the chase they just had and the reprimands from Fowler, he just about made it to his apartment and collapsed, but a brand new day sees him back at his desk, reviewing evidence and researching.

Knowingly or not, the thief has given him an important hint:

_“It belongs to the people who hold it sacred.”_

It’s an outlandish, almost comical notion, but it would explain why none of the stolen pieces ended up on the black market: what if Cat Lad was stealing those pieces to bring them back to where they ‘rightfully’ belong?

An 18+, R-rated Robin Hood, to steal from those who exploit art for profit and give back to the ones who create and respect it. The thought wouldn’t leave him when he got out of bed this morning, so he spent the early half of his shift doing some digging.

Every single one of the pieces Cat Lad has stolen so far was obtained through shady means, skirting around illegality but never quite breaking any significant rule, except a few maybe moral ones.

“…and why is it relevant?” Fowler asks, tired about this shit going on in his city but still curious as to where this is going.

“It _is_ relevant, Captain, we finally have a motive!” Connor insists, holding tightly on all the files he printed, “We’re not dealing with a felon thief; we’re dealing with a man doling out _vigilante justice_. The investigation requires a completely different approach!”

“Look, I don’t care what approach you pick, just find this weirdo and put him in a cell. Got it?”

Connor knows this case is not exactly a priority and that the only reason it’s getting so much attention is because it’s a stain in the police force’s reputation, but it still stings to be dismissed like that. “Got it.” He says simply, and returns to his desk.

“Vigilante, huh?” Hank says, walking in with two coffees and placing one on Connor’s desk for him. “…well, it _would_ explain the body-suit. Don’t beat yourself up, kiddo, you’re doing good.”

It does get a chuckle out of Connor, and he accepts the coffee with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

They’ve long convened that he’d never call him ‘dad’ while they’re on the clock. “So, what you got for me, kiddo?”

“We need to back-track, and re-interview all the victims.” The younger Anderson hands his printouts to his father. “Look! Most of these people are wealthy and influential, and there’s almost always something seedy about the story of how they came into possession of the pieces Cat Lad has stolen from them. From what I’ve uncovered so far, at least four out of the ten artefacts that were taken were obtained causing financial damage to the person that actually made or owned the objects previously.”

“Well… shit.” Hank skims over the first few pages dealing with the biggest and most recent one, the emerald. “Don’t get me wrong, I wanna catch this guy but… damn. I kinda agree with him on this one.”

Connor cringes slightly, but nods. “Don’t let the Captain hear you.” He says, but can kind of see where Hank is coming from. The premise behind the emerald coming into the museum was absolutely disgusting. Privately, Connor hopes that Cat Lad somehow had the resources to put that thing on a plane and send it back to its people.

….and damn. The fact that maybe Cat Lad is _not_ such a bad person after all makes him even _more_ attractive!

He’s got to stop thinking about a criminal like that.

That’s right, vigilante justice or not, that man is still a criminal; and Connor is _still_ seeing someone already. Well, sort of.

He hasn’t had the guts to properly talk to Markus, not even after they exchanged numbers considering how often they have to see each other because of their respective work, but…

Something is going on there. He’s a detective, he knows how to read clues –he’s seen Markus avert his eyes, bite his lips, hunch his shoulders… he’s been obsessing over the journalist’s body language and everything about his awkward but still kind of playful demeanor makes Connor want to grab him by the shoulders and kiss the shyness out of him.

Which is why he has to _stop_ jacking off in the shower to the thought of cuffing Cat Lad and fucking him into a wall. His phone buzzes.

_» Guess who’s my editor booting out at lunchtime to get a statement for whatever the fuck happened last night?_

Speak or the devil. Connor can’t quite hide the smile as he types his reply. _» You poor soul. Should I expect you?_

_» It’s alright, I have an errand to run nearby anyway. And yes, you should always expect me. Am I your worst nightmare yet? ;)_

The winkyface makes him think of Cat Lad and the detective immediately wants to punch himself in the face for it. _» Please. I’m sure any dream featuring you would be a good one._

There. He’s actually going for it. This shit has to end, and it has to end now. Maybe he lusts after the sexy man with the mask because he’s been repressing himself too long. Once he actually goes after the cute guy that he has feelings for, maybe the annoyingly intrusive wet dreams will stop.

_» Wow, you know all the things to say to make a guy feel flattered. I’ll leave you to your work for now. See you at the front entrance in 20?_

Connor bites at his lower lip. _» It’s a date._

This is the right thing to do, he knows it. Connor especially knows it when, waiting as he is for Markus to appear at the front entrance to the DPD, he finally sees his journalist friend walking alongside another guy; and an ugly coil of jealousy immediately seizes him.

Broad and tall, carrying a gym bag, attractive, looks foreign. Connor already _hates_ him.

The two stop just before the steps leading up to the entrance, talking and laughing as if they've known each other for years. They seem to be exchanging goodbyes –Connor decides to step in when he sees TallGuy go in for a hug.

"You're a popular guy today." He hopes to high heaven that he sounds casual enough, because he's just about ready to start throwing fists.

"Oh, hey!" Even Markus' bright smile upon seeing him only calms him down a little bit. "This is Sanim; he's a friend and colleague, so to speak. He was only visiting the states for a little while and he's flying out tonight."

Good, the possessiveness gnawing at the back of Connor's mind thinks.

"Well, _delighted_ to meet you, and safe journeys." He can't even bring himself to feel bad about the sarcasm, not with TallGuy's arm still slung around Markus' shoulders. "It was brief but wonderful."

For his part, the unknowing third wheel seems mostly just confused, while Markus instead clearly has picked up on what's happening –Connor can't say for sure if he's more embarrassed or amused. It's a good look on him either way.

Eventually, TallGuy –Sanim, Markus told him— speaks, with the kind of sexy accent that Connor wants away from his cute journalist: "Well, I should go. Thanks for everything again, Markus. You were… invaluable."

Connor doesn’t know what TallGuy is thanking him for, but he better step away from Markus right now after _that_ look.

"Please, it was my duty." Markus reassures, with a soft smile and a squeeze of the arm. "Be safe on the way back."

Watching the man walk away, Connor has to chastise his brain from sending wishes far different from safety. TallGuy is not a threat; he won't even be in this continent anymore. So what if he got to hug Markus before _he_ did? He's going to have a lot more than that. Soon. Soon-ish, he wouldn't do anything without Markus' expressed consent.

God, he's a disaster today.

"Sorry about that. We worked on a project together recently, on the travel section." Markus explains once they're alone, giving him an apologetic little grin that just about melts his heart. "But enough about me. How has your day been so far?"

"Nightmarish." Connor confesses, "But it's all better now that you're here. Lunch and a quick chat?"

"Lunch and a quick chat." Markus echoes, trying not to outright _purr_ the words. _My, my, you're being forward today, detective._ His cat side itches to tease the hell out of the other, but he refrains.

They go to what is rapidly becoming their favorite place –close walking distance and great food, and start talking as they wait for their lunch.

 

"...so that's what I've gathered so far."

Markus can't help but throw his head back in laughter. "An ‘R-rated Robin Hood’... do you mind if I use that for my piece?" He asks, still trying to subdue his guffaws, "It's golden!"

"Laugh all you want, it's true." Connor protests, "The guy even has a fanbase."

That sobers Markus up pretty quickly. "A _what_?!"

"Well, yeah... Detroit is a big city and the streets aren't completely dead at night. People have started to notice a man in a latex cat-suit running around."

Shit. Why has North not told him?! It's not particularly noteworthy but how long before people start trying to find out who he is? He needs to look into it as soon as he gets back.

It looks like he’s gonna have to make this short and sweet, then. There’s one more thing he needs to do. "Fair enough. I think I have all I need." He tells Connor, putting away his notepad and stopping the recorder... before starting it up again: "Actually no, I have one more question. It's not exactly related, but it's very important to me."

Connor looks at him with an arch in his brow and Markus wants to melt. "Yes?"

He takes off his glasses and leans slightly forward from his side of the table, making good work of his big, mismatched eyes as he looks up. Going in for the kill, he lowers his voice just a little.

"Why haven't you asked me out yet?"

Connor blinks. He blinks again, swallowing air. He was actually expecting a work-related question.

Markus' sudden boldness catches him as off guard as the whipcrack from last night did.

"I..." his throat dries out. How do you tell the guy you're desperately crushing on that you've been hesitating on asking him out because you also have sexual fantasies about another guy? "I didn't think it would be appropriate..."

And yet, he does lean forward himself. It would seem he's greedier than he thought: he wants this, Markus is offering... and he's going to take it.

"You know, it's sweet that you're all about the rules." Markus whispers when they're almost nose to nose. "We can work a way around it, for the paper, I can ask the Lieutenant to pass your statements onto me instead—"

Connor grabs him by the shoulders, jostling his words out of him. "Markus?"

"Y-yes?"

"Shut up."

The kiss is gentler than the words that preceded it would suggest.

Markus' lips taste like heaven, they're just as soft as they look and Connor doesn't stop himself from taking a small bite out of them enjoying the little gasp the gesture earns him until it's too much and they have to pull away –he's still an officer of the law, he can't afford to be caught making out in public, common decency and all that.

But oh, that little taste was everything. He brings a hand up, just under Markus' chin. "Dinner this Friday? On me."

Friday... he was going to check out the autumn exposition at the DeSousa Gallery, since he got an anonymous tip that some of the works may be ill-gotten... with a bit of convincing, he could turn it into a date activity.

It's a notoriously bad idea to mix business and pleasure. _Especially so_ if business is scouting out a target and the date is the detective hunting you down.

"Markus?"

Right, they're still sitting together. "Uh, sorry." He says, hoping the detective's ego will buy that he's just that good of a kisser. Which he is, but that wasn't what side-tracked him so much. "I... can't believe it's finally happening, that's all."

Connor chuckles at him. "You're so cute."

Markus knows he has a problem when he bristles at the word 'cute'. Connor doesn't mean it in a condescending way, but he seems to have somewhat gotten in his head that he's more naive than a man his age would be considered. In truth, he _did_ grow up a shy mess, and just being the same place with this very attractive man that somehow likes him in return makes him nervous, nevermind the whole secret identity problem, but... Cat Lad's mask is slowly bringing him out of his shell, showing him what he can be and what he's capable of. Sure, Cat Lad can never be embarrassed because he won't be there to face the consequences of his words; he's the confident, uninhibited person Markus has never allowed himself to be, but... he's slowly starting to think that some of that can be let go, just a little. Connor seems to like it.

 _'If only you knew, tiger...'_ is a thought that has crossed his mind on various occasions Connor called him cute or even 'pure' –that happened once, they were discussing balance and fairness as a concept and the detective turned out to be quite cynical about it compared to Markus' admittedly more idealistic beliefs. Still. Believing there's good in the world doesn't make him 'naive'.

...but that's not what this is about, is it? This is about Markus being selfish and greedy –he _wants_ Connor to know that the one behind the sultry voice and the sexy outfit is him. He _wants_ Connor to desire him showing the same raging adrenaline he runs after Cat Lad with. He _wants_ Connor to know that the shy guy he can barely bring himself to even kiss is the same guy who was _cracking a whip at him_ last night.

He wants Connor to _know_.

Now _there's_ a dangerous thought.

Markus slams the brakes on that and immediately kicks it in the darkest corner of his mind. If Connor knew, he'd probably hate him for lying, even just by omission; not to mention that he'd end up in jail faster than he can say _"sorry luv I was the thief all along"..._

 

He tries his damnedest not to think about it and spends the rest of their lunch only half listening to the detective making plans for their date, obsessing over whether he can get away with being a little more daring or whether that will immediately throw suspicion his way.

Their quick, chaste goodbye kiss still tastes bitter on his lips.

Hopefully he will get time to properly think about this whole mess by himself during the rest of the week.

Shaking his head, he focuses on the most pressing problem: he is, apparently, all over the goddamn internet.

 

North immediately laughs at him when he asks about his supposed fanbase. "You mean you didn't know???" She half-shouts and half-asks between giggles as she pulls up her phone, "There's some grade-a blogs here, look: we have @kittyboytoy... that says something..."

"Oh god..." Markus already has his face in his hands while she carries on:

"Then we have @PurrfectAss, a twitter account entirely dedicated to your blessed posterior... and oh, my personal favorite: @GetThisPussy!"

Markus curls further into himself. "And you didn't think it important to warn me?! I'll have to be more careful!"

North just shrugs. "What? I thought you knew and appreciated your thirst following!" She casually keeps scrolling through the mostly low-res pictures and the occasional clearer ones.

" _Thirst—_ " he shakes his head. "Flattering as that may be, it's still a liability!" It's a genuine worry, considering the collective value of the things he's stolen so far -god, the emerald alone could have been the down payment on a house- "What if one or more of them decide to try and find out who Cat Lad is?"

"Oh no, you don't have to worry about that!" His partner in crime smiles in positively gleeful mischief as she shows him a particularly well-timed smartphone picture of him seen from the back sliding down a lightpost. "Almost all of them agree that it would _kill the mystery_ and will gladly let you keep the mask and collar on as you fuck them -or they fuck you." The last part is added almost in a cackle.

That does Markus in. It's too surreal, he starts to laugh. "How very generous of them, isn't it, luv?" He manages to get that much out before absolutely losing his shit in guffaws.

North smirks at the shift in speech pattern but doesn't mention it. "Do you wanna hear what the people have to say about your tail?"

"Please, no. Let a cat keep his innocence—"

Markus can't even say the full phrase without bursting in laughter again, nevermind keeping a straight face.

"Bitch, _please_!" North counters, left hand going to rest on her hip while the other shoves the phone at him: "Just last night you made half the internet cream its pants with your whip!"

Oh wow. "That was... fast." He wouldn't have thought there'd be pictures already, but this goes beyond that. The footage is dark and blurry, possibly leaked from one of the security cameras at the mouth of the alleyway, but... someone made a gif out of the moment he killed the streetlight with a whip-crack.

Some of the comments under it are quite explicit.

And then it's been shared and re-shared with various funny captions.

"...holy shit, I'm a fucking meme."

North goes into hysterics. It takes a full three minutes before her laughter finally calms down, and she has tears in her eyes by then.

She takes one more look at the phone. "Oh look, this account is named like the song you play on the piano!"

Markus sends her a look that asks whether she's actually messing with him or not. "North... the title of the song is 'The Cat _Came_ Back'..."

"Yeah, it's the— oh." North starts laughing again. The name of the blog is 'The Cat _Got_ Back', and it's entirely dedicated to pictures of Markus' shoulders and back generally.

They waste the entire evening scouring these 'fan clubs' to try and find anything that could be a danger to his identity. North offers to make the sacrifice and create a fake fan-account to monitor the situation. She calls it @PussyWhipped.

Markus declares he hates her immediately after.

They still fall asleep back to back on Markus's bed with Lucifer curled up at their feet.

 

The rest of the week is moderately quiet, Markus spends it second-guessing his decision to follow his feelings for Connor and obsessing over the right course of action.

Surprisingly, North mildly disapproves.

"I'd be all for it if it was just a cover." She mentions, while ushering Fuji and Sebastian out on the balcony since they clearly want to play chase and _will_ break things if they stay inside, "I know it's a horrible thing to say but feelings? _Actual_ feelings for the one who wants your alter ego _in jail_?" She shakes her head. "That gets very messy, very fast."

"I know, I just... couldn't help it." Markus tells her honestly. Over the past month, she's listened to him rant about how hot Connor is more than once. Then how hot became how driven, how intelligent, how funny... and, eventually, how _sweet_. That was the moment she knew Markus was _fucked_. Head over heels.

"I know you Markus." The sigh that escapes her lips is all affectionate worry, "You're a sucker for doing what's 'right'. And even Cat Lad has a softer heart than the latex and whip make it seem." He doesn't refute the statement. "Just... promise you won't do something stupid like turning yourself over for the sake of his career."

"I'm in love, not an idiot." And yet, now that she's said it, he's thinking about it: _would he_ turn himself over if Connor's career was at stake?

No, he's actually doing the right thing _right now_.

...maybe.

If Connor was in _actual_ danger of being fired. Possibly.

....shit.

But that's not gonna happen! He's been following his detective's record on the down low and, aside their little feud, every other case Connor has ever been on was cracked within the week. He is DPD's literal _golden boy_ , which is the reason they send him and only him after the mysterious art thief that nobody can catch.

So that reasoning is pointless.

Utterly, utterly pointless.

North looks at him with the knowing worry of someone who can tell exactly where his mind went. "Well. Here's to hoping." She says, shrugging her shoulders a little, before her expression and demeanor do a complete 180°. "Now. What are you gonna wear for your date? Are you going to still pretend you're a blushing little virgin or are you actually gonna give your detective some _sugar_?"

"I swear to God North, you're worse than the internet!"

And yet, he lets her help choose a slightly more flattering outfit than the ones he usually disappears into, for the big day.

 

There is still a long, soft cardigan draped over his shoulders when Friday comes around, but the jeans and t-shirt underneath it do enough favors to his shape that even Simon teases him about it at work:

"Mixing business with pleasure, are we?"

Markus bites at his lower lip –yes, on so, so many levels. He shakes his head and schools his expression into a bored one. "Hardly.” He retorts, pointedly looking away, “If this date goes well, I'll get the official statements from the Lieutenant, in the future."

"Such a professional." His editor chuckles, clapping him on the back, "Or an incurable goody-two-shoes, depending on perspective."

If only you knew, Simon. Markus makes a face at him.

" _Sorry_ for looking out for our paper's integrity." He deadpans, sidestepping out of his friend's hold. "Now can I clock out? I don't wanna be late."

The blonde chuckles some more but does make a shooing motion –it’s definitely the end of the shift, and in all honesty, it's good to see Markus go out and socialize.

As young and attractive as Markus is, it was the opposite that was weird: over the past couple of years especially, he was always 'busy' or 'going to the gym' or 'finishing up on some things'... the only times he _did_ go out were when visiting his elderly father and, well... that couldn't have been healthy.

Simon truly wishes the best time possible to his most hardworking writer.

 

Connor is wearing a black button-up and a leather jacket over his jeans and Markus already knows it'll be hard to keep his hands off the detective tonight.

This is getting ridiculous.

"Hey."

"And here I thought most of your charm was in the uniform." Markus feels strange being so bold without his mask, but he did promise himself he'd step up his game. "Way to prove me wrong, detective."

Connor chuckles self-consciously –how positively _endearing_. The Cat itches to come out and have a little scratch at his favorite tiger, but Markus manages to keep it in check, even as Connor acts like the perfect gentleman and offers his arm. "Shall we?"

Over the course of the week, Markus mentioned the exposition 'in passing' and managed to make going seem like Connor's idea. All it took was mentioning that his elderly father is a painter, and of course the detective deemed visiting a gallery a safe idea for a first date.

Markus is also free to scope out the place with interest, now that he made that particular premise.

The place itself is quite interesting, and some of the pieces really capture Markus' attention... especially the pieces that he knows for a fact are attributed to the wrong name.

"Oh? That's strange..." he comments 'innocently', pointing at the mixed media work, "I could have sworn the author of this was a woman."

He knows they were done by a woman. In fact, he knows her ex-husband took the pieces with him when they split up and sold them as his own. Connor's attention also goes to the pieces.

The canvases presented are partly painted and partly woven with fabric, beads and patterns, the shapes left very vague but still evocative of a circus act and look. Very beautiful and not often seen. He isn't enough into art to actually have a critical eye on the piece, but if what Markus is saying is true then this place could become a target for—

—no. This time is for the two of them. There'll be no talk of work or latex-clad cat men tonight.

"See, look, there's a signature there." Markus points at the corner of one of the three pieces. "I can't read Cyrillic that well anymore, but I used to date this one guy from Belarus; and I'm pretty sure that says 'Katia'."

He doesn't know why he's doing this, he's basically inviting Connor to come after this job, but... in over two years of activity, the detective was the only one to figure he had a higher motive beyond petty thievery.

Vigilante justice is still illegal, but it's hard to outright condemn someone breaking the law for what is, albeit arguably, the right thing to do –is he trying to sway Connor to his side? No, that's ridiculous; he's an officer of the law.

But... maybe. Maybe if he understood... he wouldn't hold too much bitterness against Cat Lad for following his ideals.

Shit, he really needs to decide which of his alter egos gets to pursue Connor.

"Hopefully it's just a misprint." The detective comments -ah, he wants to drop the subject. Clever, tiger. "We can ask the staff, later, if you want?"

He would love nothing more than to launch a shit-storm over this cash cow of a gallery and bury it in scandal –he's a journalist, he can do that pretty easily, but… the artworks in question would be sequestered and he promised Ms. Akulenko that he would get them back. He gets out his softest, gentlest smile. “No. No, let’s just enjoy the night.”

They go out for dinner to a Vietnamese place, since Markus assured Connor he can handle his spices and, well, of course the detective would make it a challenge. True to form, the cuisine is spicy enough that they’re both ready to spit fire after a while, but the tasty dishes are worth the slightly burned lips.

Plus… Markus can think of at least one way his mouth will feel all better.

And it’s not the dessert Connor orders for the both of them –though it’s nice to know he has a sweet tooth.

“You know… it just struck me that we’ve been dancing around each other for more than a month, and I hardly know anything about you.”

That would be because Markus has been trying very hard not to disclose anything that could link him to the latex-clad thief you’re chasing, detective. He bites at his lower lip. “Well… my name is Markus Manfred, my dad’s a painter…” he says, starting off what Connor already knows to ease himself into a safe conversation territory, “I studied arts and communication. Started writing for the university paper’s art column. Moved onto my current position… did one particularly opinionated piece about copyright and art theft, and suddenly I’m an investigative journalist following the adventures of Detective Anderson vs. the fearsome Cat Lad.” He finishes off with a wink. “Funnily enough, I take care of no less than four neighbourhood cats in my spare time and my beloved piano will forever have paw prints and cat hair all over it. Your turn.”

“Oh man…” it’s adorable that Connor decides to get shy _now_. After the way he kissed him smack-dab in the middle of a diner –Markus had never been happier to be wearing a long, long sweater.

He tugs the dessert plate to himself. “Nu-huh. Come on. You’re not getting _any_ of this [caramel thing](https://vina.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/Vietnamese-desserts.jpg) until you tell me something about you that I don’t know.” He tuts, scooping a first spoonful to his lips, “And if you don’t hurry up I’ll eat it all by myself.”

The detective genuinely laughs at that. “Way to put pressure on me!” And yet his eyes follow the little spoon until it disappears between Markus’ lips. “Let’s see… my name is Connor Anderson, I’m a detective…”

“Copying my start only makes you lose time…” the journalist warns in almost a sing-song tone, eating another spoonful and making sure to be very, very slow about it. Connor’s eyes do not leave his mouth and he doesn’t speak for a full four seconds.

“I… I trained with the anti-riot unit for eleven weeks, and…” huh. Interesting. That explains a lot about Connor’s athletic abilities. But the detective’s following words capture Markus’ attention the most: “…and I will kiss you again if you don’t stop that.”

Markus fights the urge to smirk as he holds the very end of the metal teaspoon between his teeth. “Stop what?”

Connor just leans forward to take the spoon away and replace it with his lips.

Markus promptly decides to forget about the damn cake thing. Connor kisses like he does everything else: demanding attention and with all of himself. He’s not one to half-ass anything, and Markus is powerless to do anything but pliantly open his mouth for him, letting Connor take control and stake claim to his mouth nice and slow—

—his chest knocks against the edge of the table as he tries to deepen the kiss further, and a few heads turn in their direction.

They break apart, and Markus is incredibly thankful for his natural skin tone hiding the blush that is instead so evident on Connor’s face.

The detective attempts to joke. “We should probably save some of that, uh… enthusiasm, for the third date.”

“If our hecklers at the precinct are to be believed, we’re _well past_ ‘third date’ territory.” Shit. That sounded a little too… cat-like. But it does make Connor look at him with wide eyes and a deliciously hungry expression.

“Aren’t you forward, tonight? Where’s the shy little thing I’m used to?”

Still, the detective’s hand doesn’t leave Markus’ jawline. He doesn’t hold back the smile this time: “You got red pepper and rice wine into him.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“You do that, tiger.”

The flash of shock going through the detective’s eyes is second in speed only to the one of fear in Markus’ own. _Surely_ it’s a common enough endearment to _not_ be enough to link him to Cat Lad.

…is it?

The chilling silence between them sure is killing the mood for Markus. He needs to bring this back before his stupid loose mouth sends him to jail without even collecting the hot detective he’s had his eyes on for a month now. Clearing his voice, he reaches out a hand to touch Connor’s. “Speaking of rice wine… I think it’s getting to me. Total lightweight and all… why don’t you drive me home?”

The detective seems startled back into the here and now –hopefully it was just a small bout of panic about being aroused by a completely different guy while on a date. Markus is willing to forgive that, considering the other guy is also him. “Sure. Yes, we can go back.”

He sounds so distressed –Markus feels even worse. He pretends to have dozed off with his head on Connor’s shoulder for the whole drive: it takes _him_ out of the risk of saying more dumb shit that’ll get him found out, and enables the detective’s Big Strong Protector fantasy –which he totally has and isn’t fooling _anyone_.

Their goodnight kiss tastes even more bitter than their first, no matter how much sugar still lingered on Markus’ lips.

 

Of course Connor gets obsessed with the stolen works, and of course he finds him at the gallery a few days later.

Markus just slowly turns and uncoils his whip, pulling a segment taut in front of his own chest. “Hello, _officer_.”

“Damn it, this place was supposed to be a nice memory.”

Connor just barely mutters it, but he hears it. He’d be a liar if he said it doesn’t make his chest feel fluttery. Still, he knows his detective –knows Connor won’t hesitate much longer. Tugging at the strap across his chest to make sure the tube is securely slung he bites suggestively at his lower lip.

“Don’t lose hope for that yet, _tiger_. We can still make it _very_ nice~” it would be too suspicious for him to suddenly stop flirting –nevermind the fact that it’s even harder not to, now that he knows what Connor feels like on his lips.

The detective tries charging him, and he lets the whip crack.

Once. “Ah! Ah! No touching the masterpieces!” Twice.

The third strike grazes Connor’s shin. He doubles over slightly in pain, and Cat Lad takes it as his chance to turn literal tail and run, knowing he only has precious few seconds –his pursuer’s eyes have lit up on fire again.

He almost ends up boxed in into a service facility, but manages to find his way onto the roof after all –Connor is hot on his heels and seems especially vicious today, though. It sends Marks mixed impulses.

On one hand, it would seem that the detective too has made a choice, on the other hand… at the cost of sounding repetitive to his own mind, _meow, tiger_.

No, _focus_. He’s almost in the clear; he just has to leap from the fire stair’s platform to the other side. It feels unstable under his feet, but he manages to land the jump on the adjacent building’s roof –luckily the two structures are less than four meters apart, one being the exposition ground and the other the storing warehouse and offices related. He should run and not look back, but something roots him there and makes him turn to look.

Cat-like instincts, perhaps.

“You hesitated for last time.” Shit. Connor is _actually_ going to try the jump. “I won’t let you get away, not this time.”

Well this is it. Either he lets Connor plummet to his death, or he saves him and goes to jail. There are no happy endings to this. Unless…

The detective takes a running start, and Markus ties one end of his whip to the railing of the rooftop he’s on, before stepping over it and leaping off just as the platform under Connor’s feet collapses.

He doesn’t know by which higher power’s grace he manages to catch Connor and then heave the both of them back to safety, but he’s thanking them all as they end up sprawled on the roof’s cement, but still mostly unharmed and in one piece.

“You…” Having _nearly_ fallen off buildings to his demise multiple times, in the last couple of years, Markus recovers from the impact and the shock first. “You _stupid bastard_!”

He straddles Connor’s form and punches him in the jaw.

The detective barely reacts, but does look up at him in surprise.

“Is _this_ what you wanted? Do you want to die that badly?!”

“I— you—”

“Shut up!!!” Markus all but roars at him, making Connor’s mouth snap closed. He leans over the other’s form to catch the whip that’s still partly tied to the railing. “Clearly, from now on, I cannot trust you to know when to _stop_ running after me.”

Taking advantage of Connor’s still shell-shocked form, he grabs both his wrists and ties them to the whip. Then Connor recovers from the shock, and his face takes on the same exact hungry look he directed at Markus during their date last Friday.

“Wow, okay… this is not where I expected a rescue to end up into, but… sure.”

Markus seems to just then realize the position they’re in, and stops short for a moment. “That’s the adrenaline talking, _tiger._ ”

“Perhaps.” The detective concedes, leaning his face forward and breathing in and out dangerously close to Markus’ neck. “Or perhaps we’ve done this song and dance enough times that you’re enjoying this more than you should.”

“You’re in shock—”

“I’m not. I’ve been _shot at_ before. One near miss is _nothing_.” And there goes the steely, determined tone that makes Markus _lose_ his shit every time. “You should know better than to underestimate a pretty face. Or are _you_ all talk?”

The last statement is punctuated by a buck of Connor’s hips under him and—

—this may or may not have been a recurring fantasy, for Markus.

This is a terrible idea.

Connor may be trying to stall him for reinforcements, or for the time he can wiggle free from the whip and attempt a takedown. It’s also a terrible thing to do to the man who thinks he’s dating a different guy already. But Markus _wants_ it, he aches for _this_ part of Connor as much as he loves the softer, sweeter side the detective reserves for his journalist sweetheart.

Fuck it.

Tonight is made for bad choices apparently.


	5. Whipped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You did _what_?!?"
> 
> Predictably, North disapproves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOMEHOW THIS KICKED MY ASS.  
> Shoutout to Kyra for giving me the main idea about how Markus makes it so that Connor can cope with having 'cheated'.
> 
> But, it comes at a price. Connor will now be suspicious. Especially because both Cat Lad and Markus left scratches and bites on him, but were very cereful not to get marked themselves.  
> And there's also the freckles.  
> Either way. Take it.
> 
> I copped out of the second sex-scene because... well, you already got one you greedy bitches, you can use your imagination for how the second one ends. ;)  
> (just kidding I love you all and would never actually call any of you 'bitches').  
> Also.  
> Josh is Markus' informer.  
> There's a reason for that.  
> There's actually a lot of little pieces that I have to slot together -which I shouldn't do to myself, because then I inevitably forget one or two and shit makes no sense. XD

 

This is a terrible idea.

The thought bounces around every corner of Connor’s still reeling mind, and yet, he does nothing to stop it –well, his wrists just got tied in a leather and latex whip, so he won’t be able to do much, but still… Cat Lad doesn’t strike him as the person who would keep going if he hadn’t manifested consent.

“Let this be a lesson, then…” the thief whispers, cat-like in both the hiss and the quick, graceful movements his clawed gloves unbutton Connor’s uniform, with “ _Cats_ have nine lives… you only have one… and you would miss out on _so_ many fun things if you wasted it…”

The detective shivers under the touch –he feels the claws digging slightly, but not enough to leave a mark. Yet. He tries to lean up to meet the masked face for a kiss.

He finds fingertips gently pushing back at his lips instead.

Cat Lad’s expression is impossible to read because of the black latex and tinted goggles, but his mouth –lips just barely parted and exhaling in one trembling breath— is _so_ goddamn inviting, Connor almost struggles against the bonds.

“I don’t kiss on the mouth.” The thief states, with the sort of firm finality that stops Connor in his tracks and also makes the heat pooling down his belly grow stronger… especially when Cat Lad leans down to have a nibble at his clavicle: “Everything else is _fair game_.”

The detective throws his head back sharply enough that he bangs it against the railing. Cat Lad chuckles against his skin, the vibration of laughter making him shiver while the other brings a clawed hand behind his nape. “ _Easy_ , _tiger_ … one would almost call you touch-starved…”

“Why don’t you remedy that?” it’s out of Connor’s mouth before he can even bring himself to feel like scum about it –he went on _one_ date with Markus and already he’s cheating.

But then he feels Cat Lad run the tip of his tongue from his clavicle up his neck and bite softly at his jawline, and that train of thought derails wildly. “We’ll see about that. If you _deserve_ it.”

He says that, and yet he slips both hands underneath Connor’s shirt and down his shoulder-blades.

The moment he slightly digs the claws in is also the moment the detective’s hips buck into him roughly.

It’s instinctive, Markus drags the claws up sharply and he knows, he _knows_ he’s broken skin; this is already all kinds of messed up but the moan Connor rewards that with makes him chuck reason and caution out to the wind.

He sits back slightly, making sure to grind down on his captive’s hips as he does it and getting a very close-up view of Connor’s eyes growing hungrier and needier, while he unzips the front of his suit. He almost leans the full weight of his back on Connor’s bent legs, enjoying the sight of the detective struggling in his bonds. “What’s that? You want to touch?” he asks, teasingly leaning forward again, “…well, you’re not allowed, _tiger._ ”

Truth is, Markus does want to kiss him. He wants nothing more than to kiss; and let Connor touch every inch of him, but the second their lips touch is the second Connor will be able to _tell_ , because there’s no way Markus can kiss as anyone but himself –so he plays it rough. He plays the part the black latex gives him leeway to, feeding off leftover adrenaline from their chase and the detective’s intense, twisted attraction.

He lets his claws drag down Connor’s chest and— damn it, he’s leaving too many marks. How will he even _pretend_ not to know when he sees him again as himself?!

“Oh _, fuck— ah…_ ”

He’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

Connor tries to kiss him again, and he has to roughly yank him back by the chin, while his other hand goes for the waistband of his jeans.

Latex is not the gentlest of materials against skin, but he supposes they’re both going to have to tough it out. “This is going to get rough.” He warns, only to nearly lose all control when Connor’s response is an even _needier_ gasp.

Crouched on a rooftop and with one of them tied up, it’s not the easiest situation to maneuver around, but Markus only has to drag jeans and underwear down enough to reach –and he still uses Connor the courtesy of limiting the use of his clawed gloves on certain parts: he just cups him gently while he leans down to start him up with his mouth instead… they’re in far from ideal conditions, but there’s no way Markus will deny himself his prize any longer.

The _noises_ he’s making are sweet torture on Markus’ ears, and he can’t quite help himself as he takes the other in further.

Connor tries bucking into him so hard that Markus has to push him down with his free hand; and for a moment he thinks the detective might come just from the sight of his nemesis sucking him off.

He pulls away, painfully slow as he crawls back to loom over the other on all fours. “Now, now, _tiger…_ what made you think that I’d be done with you so easily?”

“I fucking _hope_ you won’t be…”

Woah. Connor’s gaze is dazed and unfocused; he’s wound up to a point where he’ll basically let Markus do _anything_ to him. He needs to be careful.

He also needs to get on that cock and ride it into the sunset.

For the third time, Connor tries to kiss him when he leans forward enough; and Markus is _done_ with that –he won’t be able to resist further attempts, so he does the only logical thing his brain can supply right now: he roughly covers Connor’s mouth with his clawed hand and _keeps it there_ as he lowers himself on the detective.

Not even the hand pressing against his mouth can quite mask Connor's groan.

Markus has momentarily forgotten anything about his double identity and the inherent wrongness of what he's doing, especially towards Connor –it's hard to think he's doing anything but good when the detective moans and bucks into him like a man possessed, and it's easy in return to lose himself in their pace, fucking fast and hard like two people who know they shouldn't but aren't going to stop.

He was right, Connor's attraction to Cat Lad is something primal and rough, something the detective doesn't think Markus could take… a part of him is angry at that assumption. Or _would_ be angry if it wasn't so fucking hot to think about, in the here and now –the prim and proper detective keeping it soft for his sweetheart and yet hiding a veritable beast underneath all his strictness and rules.

It makes it harder to keep the low noises building up in his throat from escaping.

Which in turn makes Connor push harder and fasten the pace underneath him.

Shit. If this goes on any longer, he will goddamn come untouched –it _has_ been a long time, he shouldn't be surprised that this is what does him in, not with the kind of build-up they've had.

And however will Connor hide from Markus the claw marks and love-bites left behind by Cat Lad?

He bites down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood to keep Connor's name from spilling out of his mouth as he _does_ come –the orgasm hitting him hard enough that he doesn't care about the detective getting frantic enough to outright be slamming into him, thrashing against his restraints enough to rattle the damn railing, for the next few moments.

Or minutes.

Or however fucking long it passes until Markus feels Connor come inside him like the fucking beast he is.

_There you are, tiger._

They stay like that for a few seconds, chests heaving, neither quite believing that actually just happened.

Connor can't quite see Cat Lad's eyes past the tinted goggles, but his senses are returning to him, and his intuition is sharp enough to know that the thief is staring back at him with the same disbelief he feels on his own face.

But a Cat's reflexes are faster than a man's, apparently, because Markus smiles at the detective almost sheepishly, unable to hold back a genuine apology:

"I'm... sorry, tiger. This is going to be poor form."

Connor can barely take in some air as he dazedly asks: "What is?"

He's already fallen unconscious once Markus hits the flat of his palm against his temple, making him knock the side of his head against the railing. "... _this_."

The echo of the hit sounds like judgment to Markus' ears.

"What the fuck am I doing?"

It's a bit late to ask himself that question and he knows it. North was right, this is a mess and it's all his fault because he couldn't decide which side of him wants Connor more.

He can do one thing right, at least –untie Connor, clean him up as best as he can and make it look like he just got knocked out during a fight.

They can have _one more_ dirty little secret.

 

"You did _what_?!?"

Predictably, North disapproves, if the way she shouts into the phone is any indication.

"I know." He says, not even trying to argue it, "I just... lost control. He almost fucking died running after me, I— lost it."

Rationalizing it once he drove away on his bike, that fear might have been a factor in spiking the desire for closeness. Unexplained to Connor, but making perfect sense if one knew the identity of the man behind the cat mask.

"I'm almost afraid to ask what you're gonna do now." She says, from the other end of the line, and he braces himself for one of the most embarrassing conversations of his life –which will be saying something.

And this is why he called upon his friends as soon as he got home: "Well... I have _one_ idea that might work."

 

He goes to see Connor the next day, with homemade muffins on top of visiting. Since he now has to get his statement from Hank, he had the foresight to ask how Connor is doing so that he has an excuse for knowing about him getting hurt –he stills feels bad for knocking him out like that, and has no other way to make up for it.

Connor is surprisingly reluctant to accept them.

"You... shouldn't have, Markus."

Right. The detective still thinks he cheated. "Why not? I wanted to cheer you up after a bad night..." except the night wasn't bad at all, not by a long shot.

" _Yikes_ , the dipshit is too busy chasing after the stripper freak to take care of his real gay boyfriend. Talk about pathetic."

"Is that genuine concern for my love life or are you just jealous for not having one, detective Reed?"

Ah. Detective Gavin Reed, that's what this asshole's name was. He was a millisecond from chucking the entire tin of muffins at the jerk's head, hadn't it been for Connor's vitriol-laced retort.

Gavin backs off with muttered insults and Connor just rolls his eyes at the man –seems like the two make a habit of throwing each other acidic remarks.

Shit, there's too many people here. Time for a change of tactics. He gently grasps at Connor's wrists, on the spot where he _knows_ the rope burns are, and prompts the detective to look at him. "Hey. You're obviously stressed out." He calls, tipping forward to whisper in his ear: "My place is close by. What say you spend the rest of your break outside and let me take good care of you? Hm?"

Connor feels, if possible, even worse about it. Here this lovely creature is, thinking he got hurt and wanting to make him feel better, while the truth is he was getting it on with the criminal he was supposed to arrest! "Markus, I—"

"Come on... let me do something nice for you."

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_!!! It feels so wrong to say that when he knows exactly what happened, when he's the one that _made_ it happen in the first place!

Sure, it takes two to tango, but the one flirting and flicking a whip around definitely wasn't Connor.

Regardless, it would seem that those North dubbed his 'baby blues and greens' manage to do the trick: Connor relents with a soft smile.

"How do I even deserve you?"

Markus' words only just manage not to catch in his throat. "We deserve each other."

He can only hope Connor doesn't notice the slight hint of bitterness in his whisper, as he languidly steps back to precede him to the door.

The walk to his place is indeed short, but Markus finds the time and spirit to lighten up his own mood -he can make this better. Not right, but... better. "Ouch, look at that... it looks even worse in natural light!" He coos, eyeing the angry purple bruise on Connor's temple that will forever be a stain on his conscience. Among other things he did.

Connor tries to diffuse. "Ah, it's not that bad..." yet when he tries shrugging his shoulders he flinches halfway through the movement –it must have hurt a lot to be rattled against a metal railing again and again after having his back clawed at. Markus bites at his lip to push back the memory of Connor bucking and struggling underneath his legs.

"Okay, tough guy, if you say so..." he jokes, not quite keeping the grin off his face at the prospect of pampering Connor a little after the night they just had. And he also can't wait to carry out his plan -North did say it was just crazy enough to possibly work. "...but tough guys don't get the 'get-better' kiss."

"I'd like to rescind my previous statement, then."

Of course he would. Markus smiles. He just has to get his detective to relax enough to slip up and let him 'discover' one of the many bite marks on his neck and chest.

Hopefully sweet, caring Markus still has _some_ game against Cat Lad.

 

"Well... home sweet home."

At least they're not getting sneak attacked by his cats. Yet.

Markus knows he has nothing incriminating in sight and Connor can't find anything unless he finds a reason to go up in his attic, but he still does a quick sweep with his eyes just in case.

Connor looks around the apartment, takes in the warm, wooden tones and the piano he heard so much about... it's a small place, all things considered, functional, not too many embellishments, but still cozy and welcoming. It feels a lot like Markus. "It's nice." He feels stupid at the stereotypical pleasantries, but he does mean it.

Markus ushers him into the living area and sits him on the armchair. "You stay here." He orders softly, "I'm going to put these away, go get some ice for your head, and then we can see if I can't do something about your shoulders, alright?"

Lulled by the low and reassuring tone, Connor simply nods, and lets himself be taken care of.

Markus does have masterful fingers, between the piano and the whip, and soon enough his detective is putty in his hands. He moves around to the front of the chair to caress Connor's cheek gently underneath the bruise, he loosens his tie, undoes the first two buttons of his shirt.

The other's eyes snap open and both his hands fly to clasp around Markus', but the damage is done.

This is it. Connor looks on the verge of bolting out, he'll have to tread very, _very_ carefully. "W-well... the Lieutenant told me you were in a fight, but... I didn't think it'd be his bad..."

He lets out a nervous laugh that tells Connor he doesn't really believe his own words –which is true, after all.

The detective bites at the inside of his mouth. He doesn't deserve Markus: he could _lie_ , despite how obvious it is to the both of them; he could lie and say that it's from fighting; he's being offered an easy out. A coward's one. A hypocrite's one even, considering how jealous he was when saw Markus just _speaking_ to another guy and how unpleasant it was, back at the gallery, to hear about 'that one guy from Belarus' that Markus apparently used to date. No. Connor won't take this out, even if it costs him this. "Markus... there's something I have to tell you..."

Markus initially thought he would have fought not to laugh when he heard Connor's 'confession', but now that he's hearing it he feels like it's almost breaking his heart. The detective is so torn about it that it makes Markus feel like an absolute asshole for putting him in that kind of situation.

He listens as if actually hearing it for the first time, and paradoxically cannot help the question leaving his lips after the truth is wholly exposed: "...did you enjoy it?"

Connor hugs him at the shoulder and hides his face in Markus' chest.

"I did... forgive me, I did..."

Markus takes a deep breath to steel himself. It's now or never. This is crazy, but nothing about his relationship with Connor has been normal so far. He cannot tell him the whole truth, but he can let the detective have _some_ peace of mind with this. Crazy enough that it just might work. "You know... we really... only went on one date." He starts, tentatively, without even having to pretend to be scared and insecure about it. "And, well... we never discussed things like... exclusivity." He glances down in time to see Connor emerge from their embrace and look at him with wide, shocked eyes. "If what happened— I mean... it sounds like you... needed it, so..." Fucking hell this is harder to say than he thought it would be, "If you do... need it, I mean... I forgive you."

The detective's shock turns into pained relief as he leans in for a kiss, but Markus leans back, keeping a small distance between them for a moment: "On one condition."

"Anything..." Connor breathes it out with no hesitation, knowing he has no grounds to object.

Letting his smile slide towards the cheeky side, Markus pushes Connor back until he's firmly pressed against the backrest. "I want you to tell me... everything."

Holy shit.

Connor really doesn't know how the universe saw it fit to send him Markus Manfred from above, but not one part of his body can even begin to care, not when those goddamn gorgeous mismatched eyes look up at him from where he's kneeling in front of the armchair, a shadow of mischief in them that Connor rarely ever saw in their mutual teasing. Markus is _okay_ with the fact that he had sex with the Cat Lad.

Hell, Markus seems _turned on_ by the fact that he had sex with a criminal.

The very air he's breathing feels heavy in Connor's mouth. So he swallows it down.

"Well... first, he straddled my lap."

He doesn't know what possesses him to even begin, but he already feels all breath leave him when Markus lifts himself off the floor and carefully swings his legs over both his hips. "Like _this_?"

"Y-yeah... then he..." Connor is actually struggling to remember the order of events, now. "He... grabbed both my hands and tied them above my head..."

"Hm-mmm?" Markus gently, ever so gently, drags his hands down Connor's arms in a slow caress, before lifting both of the detective's hands and letting them land behind his head, on the backrest.

Connor shivers for him.

"Then... I tried to kiss him, but he refused... and— what are you doing, Markus?" He can't help but ask, when Markus leans in pretending to kiss him and then goes for the jaw as soon as Connor mentions there was no kiss.

Markus laughs low and dark against Connor's skin. "I'm making sure that... the next time you're with him... it will be _me_ you're thinking about... _tiger_."

Connor's reaction is almost instant: " _Fuck_ , Markus..."

He nearly arches off the armchair but his body refrains, held back by the ghost of a restraint that is long gone but still holds delicious power over him.

Markus presses on. "Then what, Connor?" He knows all too well what happened, but hearing it told like that, barely gasped out like a confession extracted by the guiltiest of criminals, just about makes his head spin. What an inviting turn of tables.

"He did- ah— that..." the detective shivers under his fingertips again, even though Markus runs them down his chest much more gently than the claws that scratched him, while following the red marks left behind by the night.

"Hmmm... and?"

"He went... lower..."

Oh, Markus knows _that_ too. But they're not quite in the same place, and he's not quite the same guy, is he? Not _completely_ , at least.

He gets an idea: "And what did you do, Connor?"

"I— nothing... I was tied up..." It's an obvious answer, but it bares the flank to so many possibilities.

"And what if you _weren't_?" Case in point, Markus poses the question and leans close, well within the range that Cat Lad had denied them both, until his lips are hovering over Connor's just shy of touching. "What would you do, then... tiger?"

It's as if there were actual, physical constraints on Connor that suddenly snap.

The detective has the forward surge that he was deprived of back on the roof, grabs Markus by the hips, pushes him off the chair and on the floor, placing himself on top of him as his back hit the boards.

“What I would do…” he whispers, finally getting some of that fire from within and aiming it as Markus as _himself_ –the journalist doesn’t resist when Connor grabs both his wrists and pins them on the floor above his head one-handed. “Is repay a scheming little shit with his own money.”

 _Success._ It’s not perfect, it’s possibly all degrees of twisted –letting the man you love believe he actually cheated on you and getting off on the mistaken identity dynamic that ensues… if one were to really think about it, as far as Connor knows he _has_ cheated, and here Markus is, enabling his fantasies without a second thought.

Not what most people would call a sincere, healthy relationship.

But as he feels Connor grind down against him, Markus thinks ‘most people’ can go get fucked however _they_ want. He’ll take this.

He hooks his legs around Connor’s hips. “You’ve got me now, _detective_. What are you going to do to me?”

The other just smirks at him as he leans down, and Markus couldn’t be happier about the fact that, while Cat Lad doesn’t, _he_ can definitely kiss Connor.

 

The detective returns to the station in such a good mood, after his break, that not even Miller’s taunts about ‘finally getting that tlc’ manage to dampen it.

He throws himself into his investigation with renewed effort, and even begins researching around for potential objectives for the Cat Lad, now that he knows his motive and patterns.

He knows a lot more than that actually -like the fact that Cat Lad has freckles on his chest and shoulders... then again, those don't hold a candle to the freckles on Markus' face— wait.

No, it's absurd... _right_?

He was so wound up this morning that he didn't bother taking off Markus' sweater, as busy as he was ripping the pants off him, but...

What if?

 _No_. Markus wouldn't do that to him, would he? Plus, he really can't envision the shy, awkward journalist donning a latex suit and running rooftops –he gets tripped by his own cats!

Not to mention the shock and conflict on Markus' face as he admitted to his fling... you can't fake that.

Connor shakes his head –it's a ridiculous, impossible thought. But now there's the mental image of ripping off Cat Lad's mask and finding Markus' face planted into his head.

...so much for stopping the annoying fantasies.

 

As for Markus himself, he returns to the publishing building to find Simon outside.

"Oh, hey, Markus you're back! I don't believe you've met my boyfriend, have you?"

He has, actually.

Josh is Cat Lad's informer –if someone who prefers to remain anonymous has a tip about stolen/sequestered pieces in need of 'rescue' they tell Josh. Josh then leaves a black cat sticker at the bus stop closest to the publishing building, and Cat Lad meets him there come nightfall, to listen to the information and decide whether or not to take on the task.

Because of the location, he probably suspects that the Cat is hiding behind someone who works in the building –the bus stop is visible from the entrance and it's easy to keep an eye on for someone who comes and goes every day. But Markus has never met the man as himself, so he minutely shakes his head with a smile.

"I haven't, but I seem to recall you gushing about him on multiple occasions." He says, extending a hand, "Josh, right? I'm Markus."

"Nice to meet you, Markus."

They shake hands, Josh pauses briefly while looking at him, and the slight widening of his eyes is unmistakable –he _can tell_. They've hung out enough time in the past two years that Josh would be able to pick him out in a crowd -hell, Markus is the one that encouraged Josh to put the moves on Simon!

He likes Josh, he's always been a level-headed, down to earth person... plus, it was cute, honestly: at some point in their strange partnership, Josh admitted to violating their secrecy pact and trying to find him out among the paper's staff... but also admitted to getting side-tracked by the cute blonde editor from the fourth floor.

Markus knew exactly who the cute editor was and... well, he wasn't exactly appropriate as fairy godmother material, but he did his best.

Funny how the world turns and then Simon got to be the one encouraging him to go after Connor all the time.

"Help me out, Mark; I'm trying to convince Josh to go out this evening... why don't you call Connor? We can make it a double date!"

There is a sticker on the bus stop today.

"You know I'd love to, babe, but I have to..."

"Work. I know." Simon says dejectedly, "You sure work a lot of late nights. Are you sure you're not cheating on me?"

The very thought is enough to shake Josh's usually impassive persona. "Never in a million years!"

"Maybe _he's_ the Cat thief everyone talks about." It's even funnier to Markus, to be the one making the joke, but Josh shakes his head, lacing fingers with Simon:

"If I spent _entire_ nights out... we'd both notice something missing."

They are so sweet Markus wants to punch something.

"Well— hey, you never know... you might finish up earlier, and the two of you can have a very late, possibly candle-lit dinner." Markus throws it out casually, but does send Josh a look that says a lot. They'll make their meeting very brief, and he'll handle the research himself -he's already fucking up one relationship, no need to ruin others' as well.

It's worth seeing Simon break into a smile.

 

"I don't like this, Cat."

It's strange to still stand crouched on top of the stop's cover and wear his mask now that Josh knows, but... old habits die hard. His friend is still using the alias, after all.

"Which one? The tapestry that I have to somehow transport to the other side of Detroit, or the statuette that ended up in a black market auction?"

Josh frowns further at that. "...now that you mention it, I don't like either of them."

"Duly noted." He chuckles, hopping down to clap the other on the shoulder. "I think I'll go for the tapestry first, the auction is still far away and the pieces might be in separate storage. I'll take it from here."

"Are you sure? I can—"

"Go to your boyfriend." Markus interrupts, holding up a hand when Josh tries to object, "I can handle a bit of research. Trust me. Go to Simon, tell him you love him, and treasure every goddamn moment that you can have together. Then, swear him to secrecy and tell him the truth. You have no idea what a privilege it is to have the option of doing so."

"...speaking from experience?"

Markus cannot quite contain a wistful sigh. "Something like that. I'll  see you around."

"Hey, Cat!" Josh calls out to him when he was about to leap away into the night; and he stops and turns. "...thanks. And be careful, you hear me?"

"I'll try and keep all nine of my lives." Truth to be told, he already felt like he lost at least eight of them when he saw Connor nearly fall to his death, but the sentiment is there. "You go and be good to your boyfriend."

And hey, after this he'll be able to be the one pestering Simon for details about his romantic evening, for once— honestly, even without the feelings of guilt for his own moral dilemma, the perspective of friendly payback alone would have been enough for him to urge Josh to do the right thing.

Markus sighs wistfully to himself and chances a look at the slips of paper he just got.

The tapestry is an easy enough heist, he just needs to organize transport, and with the proper container he should be able to still swing it on the bike, so give or take a couple of days and he'll be good to go... it's the statuette the piece to worry him most of the two— already the auctioneers who work above board are ruthless in the defence of their market and wealth... the even less scrupulous ones are not to be fucked with.

Markus may be a vigilante thief, but the sellers and buyers at these auctions are actual, real life felons. Influential ones even, involved with organized crime.

He's probably going to step on the wrong toes, trying to get that statuette back.

Luckily he still has time to prepare properly.

Now though, he better go home –if he makes it fast enough, he’ll have time for a late-night call with Connor. He smirks to himself at the idea of flustering his detective some more over the line… and then shakes his head at himself. He needs to take off the latex costume, he turns into a slut whenever he wears it too long. Actually, well— thinking about Connor and the way he reduced him to a panting, writhing mess on his living room floor this morning might also be a factor in Markus not being able to keep thoughts of a ‘repeat performance’ out of his mind. He would have probably felt this way even if he _wasn’t_ starved for touch and coiled up by the tension between them to the point of burning with it.

He still can’t believe how fucking lucky he is to have someone like Connor –heh, the detective is probably thinking the same thing about _him_ right now… not many people would forgive ‘cheating’, and they definitely wouldn’t forgive it _that way_. But they only had been on one date, and never did discuss exclusivity, after all.

What a strange balance to create and keep.

Oh, well. It’s better than simultaneously breaking Connor’s heart and going to jail.

 

“You look happy.” Carl smiles knowingly at him, as they gather up art supplies and leave canvases to dry.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Markus jokingly retorts, “I can be happy.”

Carl may be old, but his eyes are still good enough to see bullshit. “My boy, I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.” He turns in his wheelchair and extends a hand.

Naturally, Markus leans down to meet the movement half-way and his father gently strokes his face, before giving him a hearty pat. “Like you’re finally getting some.”

“Carl!” Markus never grew out of calling his step-father by name, but it doesn’t make their affection for each other any less genuine. And, even if it’s at his expense, it’s a delight to see Carl laugh –his health is in a slow decline and has been for a while, but the quality of his life has been improving a lot lately.

It might have something to do with Leo, his biological son, finally cleaning up his act and admitting he needed help –he’s been clean for almost a year now, and he’s even on speaking terms with Markus. The first time Carl saw the two of them hold a civil conversation he nearly cried.

“Now, now, no secrets for your old man.” He says, “Who’s the boy?”

Markus couldn’t hold the grin off his face if he tried. “Well, he’s a detective…”

“Oh come on, Markus, you’re dating _a cop_?” In case the full sleeve tattoos weren’t an indication, it’s worth knowing that Carl was quite the activist back in his day and doesn’t have the most faith in authority. But he watches his son laugh at that and his tone softens. “Fine. I’ll forgive it, but only because clearly he makes you very happy. Do carry on.”

“His name is Connor, and we met a little over a month ago…”

Markus leaves the Cat parts out of his story, but it still makes for an endearing recounting of their shared… adventures –so much so that he leaves his father’s house almost wishing that was all there was to them.

… _almost_.

Cat Lad still brings a fire out of Connor that no one quite can.

The difference is that, now, he can also harness that fire as Markus –he just has to be careful not to get himself burned.


	6. They thought he was a goner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then kiss me.”
> 
> “I don’t kiss on the mou—”
> 
> “If you’re not him, kiss me and I’ll know.” 
> 
> Damn it. He just _had_ to go there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW THIS KICKED MY ASS ALMOST AS MUCH AS WALL DOES ON A DAILY BASIS.
> 
> Totaling at 9 receipts and a little bit, 5.7k words' worth of Cat Lad goodness! Finally!
> 
> We're approaching the end my dudes. There'll be two more chapters, one of which will be the epilogue -and I know things are tense right now, but I _promise_ the ending is a happy one! ♥
> 
> I've run a quick, automatic spellcheck, but... it overlooks shit all the time, so there's probably still a ton of mistakes. Will correct them as I go.  
> Hope y'all enjoy it.♥
> 
> (Also sorry for taking so long on this, shit kept happening all of last week and work has been crazy too. But hey. I'm back, baby.)

 

There's a new moon on the night of the tapestry heist. It makes for shit visibility, but it's great for concealing and hiding, and Markus feels he's going to need it tonight –he should have known it was going to happen, he's been walking on razorblades long enough: Connor is getting suspicious. He hasn't said anything, but last night he tried to leave a visible mark on his neck during sex –Markus has let him, grasping gently at his nape and 'casually' rerouting his detective's lips to a spot that he knows will be covered by the latex collar.

He'd never thought he'd see the day where he cursed his own complexion -he's been jumping through literal hoops to avoid Connor drawing any parallels through mapping his body... last night, for example, he let his boyfriend know he was in a much more 'active' type of mood and made Connor get on his all fours for him, before taking off his t-shirt; and oh boy, _that_ was an experience in and of itself.

Talk about _fucking with authority_.

They spent almost an hour tangled in the sheets afterwards, but Markus kept his head resting on Connor’s chest –listening for his heartbeat, of all things: it was soothing, in a way. It was something warm and true, something that would still beat for him whether or not they’ll clash in the end.

But Connor is a detective; and there’s only so much he can act shy after the things they shared and did. Markus knows Connor has been scoping out for Cat Lad’s potential targets. But getting the tapestry back to the person that was the original beneficiary of the late artists’ will is the right thing to do. As for the statuette… let’s just say it’s a serious enough matter that Markus is willing to risk having his fingers cut off by a crime lord to get it back.

Vaulting over the safety rail, he finally reaches the rooftop and looks out. He does a double-take.

There’s Connor’s patrol car outside the venue, he hasn’t even tried to hide it –he organized a goddamn security detail, and made sure anyone coming would _know_.

What kind of DC comic-book bullshit is this?!

“You want to play rough, _tiger?_ ” Markus whispers to himself, “Challenge accepted.” He does a lap of the rooftop to look for alternative access points –he really doesn’t want to climb down another elevator shaft, that gave him bruises for days, but he will if he has to. Connor has two men at the service entrance and two more at ground level where the fire exit leads.

Markus sighs and makes sure his clawed gloves are in top condition.

At least it’s only four floors this time. The last few guests are exiting the place, soon enough the staff will be locking up. There’s likely an alarm with motion sensors in place, which he’ll trigger as soon as he’s out of the elevator shaft. He needs to create a distraction to get people’s attention away for at least a couple minutes. One easy way would be to raise the fire alarm and have the building evacuated, but that could also cause panic and risk someone getting hurt.

Maybe he could pretend to be stealing something else –these people have plenty of ill-gained goods, there’s some terracotta warrior statues in the international artworks room that were basically extorted from the rightful owner.

He’ll feel awful knocking one or two over just to create a diversion, but a sacrifice for a good cause is better than to keep benefitting these assholes.

The sound of footsteps from the lobby has faded –the event people probably think they’re safe, by now –Markus never quite understood the trope of the thief coming to steal right in the middle of the show: sure, it’s dramatic and spectacular, but… it’s just so much more convenient to just wait until everyone is gone. Sure, then you’re technically locked in and have to plan for a good escape route, but still!

That’s the difference between comic books and reality, he supposes. Settling down for the waiting game, Markus crouches down on top of the elevator cabin and makes himself comfortable.

 

Connor has been a total mess for the past few days. Ever since he thought about freckles he hasn’t been able to get the thought out of his mind. He’s also noticed quite a few parallels that in hindsight he should have noticed sooner –that’s what love does to a man, he supposes. It’s not really the ‘tiger’ thing, he himself had told Markus about the nickname, it’s a behaviour thing, really: the moment in the diner when Markus commented how sweet of him was to be ‘all about the rules’ and the moment Cat Lad said almost the exact same thing when he first drew his gun on him comes especially to mind.

God, even just thinking of the possibility that it could really be _Markus_ he was pointing his sidearm at the whole time is enough to give him _chills_ , and not of the good kind. But why would Markus do something like this? Is Markus’ affection for him even real, or was it just a cover to keep his enemy close?

No, he shouldn’t think like that. Not only he’s not sure that Markus is really Cat Lad and has no tangible proof yet, he also shouldn’t discount Markus’ feelings for him like that. Some things you just can’t fake—

You can fake words, touches and moans if you’re good enough, but you can't fake the little looks you have when you think you’re not being watched; you can’t fake the sudden forward surge your body has when you’re being kissed and you _get into it_ ; you can’t fake _shaking_ into the arms of the person whispering your name as you come undone for them. And you can’t fake the smile you get, playing piano songs until cats come to you like you’re some kind of Pied Piper and sharing soft laughter because the little fur balls are annoying, clingy little fucks that don’t like your boyfriend because he smells of dog.

Connor refuses to think Markus’ feelings for him are anything less than real.

It still begs the question— why? Not so much ‘why the deception’, that much would be obvious, but why at all _be_ a vigilante artefact thief?

At this point in time, Connor doesn’t even really want to jail the thief anymore, especially after doing some digging and managing to expose quite a few of the skeevy activities of the ‘victims’ –he just wants to understand. What makes a man so distrustful of the law that he takes justice into his own hands? Why not reach out to the authorities if he knew something fishy was going on? The system is not perfect, not by a long shot, but it’s all they have…

And in all of this, he _still_ can’t escape from the thought of unmasking the Cat and finding his sweetheart. He’s had _two_ Cat Lad-related dreams in just as many nights. In the first one, the thief revealed himself to indeed be Markus and they fucked under the stars. In the second one, Cat Lad was not Markus, just looked a lot like him, and the real Markus found them making out –they then had a threesome.

The detective can’t quite tell which scenario is more intriguing; he just knows he’s got it _bad_.

Last night with Markus was… fuck, it was perfect, it was everything he wanted from a relationship and then some –the yellow cat even fell asleep at his feet, it was disgustingly cute and domestic. But to live with the knowledge that a large part of that could be a lie?

He shakes himself out of his musings –there he goes, being unprofessional again, thinking about his possibly-criminal boyfriend while he should be focusing on this stakeout. The show is closed for the night and the daily staff left. Only his, his partner and patrol 186 remain.

He’s not sure the Cat will show up; he’s not even sure he _wants_ him to show up, because… well. Connor kinda doesn’t want his men to catch him. If anyone brings Cat Lad to justice, it will be _him_ , and no one else. The sentiment is redoubled on the off-chance that the thief actually _is_ Markus and his suspicions are right.

Through the halls everything is silent, and he’s getting a bit stir-crazy. Fowler only let him have a patrol because Connor assured him this place would be a target, but… he’s suddenly not so sure. There are quite a few possible pieces of interest –another thing that swayed the Captain’s favor was that gathering info about the risk factor also uncovered the fact that these event organizers were definitely not working completely above board, and several acquisitions had been made as a way to evade taxes. So when Conor payed them a visit about the chance of their precious artworks getting stolen, he also grilled them for their actions. The event organizers were not too cooperative at first, but as soon as the detective mentioned that collaboration can be brought up in court as a gesture of good faith they were all too happy to give him full access –he even has a manager keycard, he can get anywhere in the building.

After a nearly intolerable amount of nothingness, Connor checks his watch: almost half past midnight.

“…This is getting pathetic.” He is just about to give up, but clearly the alarm suddenly blaring from the first floor and the loud crash coming moments after mean he was right not to.

He runs up the stairs so fast he might as well have flown.

“Stop!!!” He’s here. This is like their first encounter all over again.

“Oops. Looks like you got me!” the thief says, almost sheepishly, leaping back from the pieces he just broke and towards the employee stairwell, “Not tonight, _tiger_.”

Connor’s heart is pounding. He hasn’t told his men the specifics, but he has a plan tonight. He _will_ unmask Cat Lad if it costs him getting caught balls-deep into him by his men. He feels so pumped on adrenaline that he nearly jumps down the stairwell the same way the Cat does –luckily, he last-minute realizes that he doesn’t have clawed gloves to protect his fingers from breaking if he tried to grab on a metal railing while falling down; and for a second he just holds onto the banister and leans forward, almost mesmerized to watch the other land gracefully on his haunches –God, it’s a pleasure to look at him move.

Mentally kicking himself, Connor gets his brain back into gear and starts running down, radioing it in: “Detective Anderson here, I’ve got contact!” he all but roars as he dashes down, “Hold your positions and watch the windows for anything that moves!”

He keeps radio contact open, but doesn’t bother listening in for the affirmatives. The detective runs after Cat Lad like a man possessed, following the stomping of combat boots all the way to the tapestry hall and arriving just in time to see the madman securing the last strap to a 140x300 tapestry, rolled up the same way one would use to transport a carpet.

“What? You thought I wouldn’t leave without a souvenir?” the thief asks, as he hefts the bundle across his shoulders and threads the arms through the straps to free his hands.

“Freeze! There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t catch you!” Connor’s brain is _screaming_ at him, _what if that is Markus? –_ he still takes out his gun.

He can almost see a flash of regret on the Cat’s face, similar to the expression he bore before knocking him out after their first time. “Don’t do this, tiger. It’s gonna hurt.”

“I said don’t move!” the detective almost growls his warning while Cat Lad pulls out his whip.

It’s a matter of milliseconds to find out who’s flick of the wrist is faster. Connor’s gun clatters to the ground, but a shot has rung through –luckily for the Cat, it barely even grazed the outside of his thigh, thanks to the whipcrack landing painfully on the detective’s arm and jostling the trajectory heavily.

It’s very likely that Connor himself hadn’t meant to actually shoot, and the pain from the whipcrack just made his fingers tighten on the firearm. Markus has no one but himself to blame for this and there’s no time to dwell on the slight burning pain either. He needs to get out fast. Since Connor is now blocking the service stairs and climbing back through the elevator shaft would take too long with this thing on his back, Markus runs for the public stairs and makes a break for roof access.

In the meantime, Connor’s men have radioed in asking about the shot.

“The situation is under control!” he hears the detective say, “Hold your positions still, tell Wilson to come man the staff access in case he doubles back and keep your eyes on doors and windows!”

He’s trying to cut off all of his escapes except the roof. He’s up to something.

Well, two can play this game, _tiger_. If it’s a rooftop standoff Connor wants, that’s what he will give. Thanking any higher power listening for his physical fitness allowing him to still run faster than his pursuer even with the tapestry on his back, Markus kicks the roof access door open and throws his gaze around for the least painful jump.

“I said stop!!!” the breathlessness in Connor’s voice from the run isn’t enough to diminish the power of his yell, and Markus has a small shiver despite himself.

Very well. He ‘distracted’ him once, he can do it again. And again. Maybe twice in one night, just to be cheeky.

 _Focus_ , Markus. You’re still playing with fire.

“Well, if you ask _so_ nicely…” He mockingly raises his hands, moving very slowly to shrug the tapestry off his shoulders and set it down to the side.

“Come towards me, and no sudden movements.” Markus can tell Connor hasn’t actually retrieved his gun, but one can never be too safe, so he listens, up to a point. “Good. Now—”

Anything the detective was about to say gets cut off by Markus slamming him against the doorway, knocking it closed and snapping Connor’s handcuffs out of his belt –there’s a brief scuffle, but he’s got the element of surprise and manages to cuff the detective’s wrist to one of the pipes above him, running along the wall on top of the door and then down into the building. He plucks the radio out of the belt as well, and pointedly closes contact. “Shhh.”

Having one hand still free, Connor punches him for leaning into him to whisper that. Markus’ head snaps to the side –the jig is up, his boyfriend will definitely see the bruise in the morning, unless he finds a good excuse for it or manages to conceal it perfectly.

He grabs at the offending wrist and digs his claws into it, pinning it to the wall as well.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He half coos and half hisses, leaning in to talk with his lips against Connor’s neck. “Tell me you don’t want this so bad it _hurts_ you, and I’ll stop. I’ll leave you alone.”

Connor opens and closes his mouth, but no words come. Markus mouths a line along his neck and then sinks his teeth in. The detective snatches his hand free… just to bring it around his body and paw helplessly at his back. He’s not even _thinking_ that, if he so wished, he could remove the mask right now.

Clearly, he wants this. A lot.

Markus runs his hands down his detective’s back, feeling every twitch of muscle underneath his fingers and loving every second of it, until he can grab Connor by the hips and pull him in so they can grind against each other. He pushes his nose underneath the other’s chin to make him lift his head, and Connor pliantly throws it back, welcoming the lips on his skin with a gasp.

“ _Fuck,_ Markus…”

It’s barely an instant, but they both feel it, tangled in each other as they were. Connor has definitely felt his body jolt into stillness at the name. Shit.

Shit, shit, _shit._

He immediately grabs Connor’s free hand and twists his arm outwards, just in case. “Poor form, to call somebody else’s name while we do this, _tiger_.”

“I know it’s you, Markus. Stop lying to me.”

God, Markus can feel pieces of his heart coming off. “I wonder… do you want me to be ‘Markus’, or do you want ‘Markus’ to be _me_?” he asks, the mocking tone sounding forced even to his own ears.

Connor starts struggling to get free –the mood for sexytimes has definitely been killed. “Don’t try to twist it!” he protests, “I _know_ it’s you!”

The detective has a passing thought of relief at the knowledge that his men can’t hear this going down, and feels even guiltier –he has told no one of his suspicions so far, not even Hank. He has lied to his own father about leads, and will probably keep lying until… until when? What now?

“Things are not a certain way just because you wish they were, _tiger._ ” Then why is your voice full of regret, Cat Lad? Why do you sound so heartbroken, if you’re really just a cat playing with his favorite little mouse?

Connor takes a shaky breath. “Then kiss me.”

“I don’t kiss on the mou—”

“If you’re not him, kiss me and I’ll know.” Connor insists, lips tilting up into a slight smile despite himself, “ _No one_ ever kissed me like Markus Manfred does.”

Damn it. He just _had_ to go there.

Someone must have died and made Markus King of Bad Decisions, because something in his chest snaps and he steels himself. Fuck it. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to do this forever. So what if Connor knows? He’ll disappear for a little while. One more heist, he’ll get the goddamn statuette and then hand himself over to the authorities. Hopefully, Connor will find it in himself to forgive him as a person, if not as a soon to be ex-boyfriend. “…fine.”

It’s familiar and yet so, so different. Both can feel every inch of the latex mask separating their faces, but their lips meet and they recognize each other, of course they do, Connor can’t help but go for a bite and Markus can’t help opening his mouth for him.

The iron grip he had on Connor’s wrist turns into them lacing their fingers together; and Markus can’t help but bring his free hand up to the side of his beloved’s neck. Fuck, his goggles are blurred –no, that’s tears.

Damn it.

He breaks the embrace and leaps back. “I have to go.”

“Markus, wait—” Connor starts scrambling for the cuff’s key, but Markus is faster.

He grabs the tapestry and gets a running start to ensure he can land on the next rooftop over and use _that_ building as an escape route. “I’m sorry.”

It’s the last thing he says before leaping off into the night –Connor runs after him up until the edge, in an almost perfect mirror of what happened on their first meeting. “Markus!!!”

Almost.

Fuck, now what?

He can't really use a kiss as a confession, but that's practically what it was... for all the good it did.

"What the fuck am I doing?" Connor isn't sure he wants to know the answer, as he takes his sweet time in retrieving the radio and reopening contact. "T-this is Anderson. I was immobilized and cut off! The perpetrator escaped on the next rooftop over, he must have a hidden vehicle, go back to the cars and get ready to give chase, don't waste time waiting for me!"

He knows Cat Lad will lose them –he's crafty like that, and Connor gave him a generous head-start.

The real question is— what will _he_ do, once he sees Markus with a bruised cheekbone, tomorrow? That, on top of the bullet graze, will be tangible proof.

 

He should have known. He should have known, but it still stings— he doesn't see Markus at all for the following day. His boyfriend doesn't seem to get his texts, doesn't answer calls, doesn't even open the door for him when Connor goes all the way to his house to look for him.

"Damn it!" He nearly flings his phone onto his desk when another call ends up to voicemail.

"Aw, trouble in paradise?" Today is definitely not a day he can tolerate Reed's bullshit, "Has your little boyfriend found out you're actually pining for the cat freak?"

It's enough to make Connor snap. He stands, slamming his hands on the desk. "I don't have the time or the patience for your pathetic, repressed ass, today." He says with a deceptively level and calm tone, "Why don't you go to the bathroom, look at yourself long and hard in the mirror and admit to yourself that you're _jealous_ because no hot thieves in latex will ever pay attention to an asshat like _you_?"

"Say that again, you fucking prick—"

Connor doesn't let Gavin even finish his threat. "You know what? Screw this. I have an investigation to finish."

He stomps his way over to Fowler's office, tells him he might have a lead on the Cat's identity and storms out. He doesn't even notice Hank following him until his father grabs him by a shoulder.

"Connor!" He calls, "Damn, son, you are out of it, what's happening?"

"Hank, I—" he tries to find the words, the first thing he wants to say is 'sorry for lying to you, dad' but it's caught in his throat, together with the realization that, on top of jeopardizing his own investigation and lowkey enabling a thief, he's also been a shitty boyfriend and an even shittier son.

The hug is unexpected, but he lets himself be pulled into it regardless.

"Son, I've taught you nearly everything you know." Hank says, patting the back of his head, "So. You found out your boyfriend is the Cat and he disappeared. That right?"

“How long—”

“Not that long.” Hank admits, “Had an inkling, but didn’t want to risk sayin’ something and getting you hurt if I was wrong.” Right, he should have remembered his old man is a detective, too, and Hank has seen almost everything Connor did. _Almost_. “Seeing the way you’ve been acting today is what actually just confirmed it.”

Connor’s shoulders sag with the relief of not having to hide it anymore. “Dad… what should I do?”

Hank pulls back from the hug enough to get a better look at his son. "That's a question and a half, kiddo." He comments, "On the one hand, he is guilty... on the other hand... he's only guilty of being the one to listen when the law wouldn't. Frankly, I'd only jail his cat ass if it turns out he was stringing you along the whole time."

"No!!!" Connor can't help the outburst, no matter how mortifyingly overdramatic. "No... he..." he can't quite tell his own father exactly what happened last night and how he knows, but he has to get the point across somehow: "What we have is real. Was real. I just..."

Hank gives his son a good, long look. He can't believe Connor would be careless enough to let himself be tangled with a perp, but then again... if there ever was _someone_ able to sway Connor from his 'mission', Hank guesses one Markus Manfred would be the one to do it. Hell, _he_ was fooled for the longest time by the sweet looking kid with the pretty eyes and the charming smiles –he was only able to see the clues once Markus' focus shifted from him to Connor: there's only so many people you can keep your guard up in front of; and Hank has seen him look at certain things, ask certain questions... it started to make a lot of sense. He sighs.

"Go, then." He tries not to think how much he'll feel like a bullshit Yoda gay-counsellor version after his next words, and he says them all the same: "Chase after him to hell and back. Try and convince him to cut a deal. He never hurt anyone, never had a firearm, he can get a good one. Then, tell him you'll take him back when he gets out on parole."

Connor closes his eyes at the thought. "Do you think _he'll_ take me back?"

"He'd be a damn fool not to." The Lieutenant assures with a grin, "Now go, vamoose."

 

Connor's first stop is Markus' workplace.

He vaguely remembers his editor, Simon, and how close they supposedly are, so he asks for him. An editor's schedule is always busy, but a flash of his badge at the reception does the trick.

"Connor, hey!" Simon greets him with the bright smile of a man who's got no clue to what's going on. "How's things?"

"I have to talk to you in private, it's important." Fuck, that sounded way too ominous. "It's about Markus." Even worse. _Great job, Connor._

"Is he in trouble?" Simon is understandably worried, and Connor's own agitation clearly doesn't help.

"Yes. No. I mean— depends on who you ask."

The blonde gives a slightly nervous chuckle. "Yeah, it sounds like we're gonna need coffee for this conversation." He says, nodding in the direction of his office, "Come along."

"Has Markus been in today?" The detective has a feeling he already knows the answer, but it's still worth to ask as soon as they're in, if only to cover all the bases.

"No, he called in sick today." Simon tells him as he starts up the coffee machine for them both, "Said he fell down a stairwell or something."

"Yeah, _and then some_." Connor can't help but comment.

"What?!" Now Simon is really worried. The detective doesn't blame him.

"You know that Cat thief who's halfway between a joke and a legend and that has made so many copies of your paper sell so well?"

Confused by the apparently sudden change of topics, Simon nods. "Yes?"

"It's him."

"Get outta here!"

"I'm serious."

"What, really?"

"Really."

"...holy shit." The back and forth is monotonous, but it proves effective. Simon looks genuinely flabbergasted. "Holy... _fucking shit_! Damn! It makes _so much sense_ , now!"

That's a hint if Connor ever heard one. "What makes sense?" He asks, completely disregarding the offered cup of coffee Simon was still holding out to him and grabbing him by the arms, "Simon, please, I _need_ to find him before he does something stupid!"

"Wasn't he at his home?"

"No, he pulled a full Houdini on me."

"Ok, could you... let me go? It kinda hurts; you're stronger than you look..." Simon gets released with an awkward cough and a muttered apology. "I'll tell you what little I know."

Simon makes Connor promise he wouldn't take Josh to the station before telling him his boyfriend's name and accompanying him to his second stop, mentioning what he found out just a few nights ago.

Josh himself is tall and broad, but has a gentle air about him that it’s almost soft. He doesn't seem surprised in the slightest by this mess. "Stupid Cat and his stupid, bleeding heart." He mutters, almost more to himself than anything else, "I knew he wouldn't be able to keep this up for long."

Connor feels his blood freeze in his veins. "Keep what up?"

The informer takes a very slow and calculated look at him, before heaving a long-suffering sigh. "He really cares about you, you know?" He doesn't really wait for an answer on that, "I don't know where he is now, but we'd talk every now and then, and... you made a mess out of him. It's pretty obvious once you know what you look for."

The fact that Markus would at all talk about him while wearing Cat Lad's mask warms Connor's heart more than it has any right to. "Really?"

"To be honest, I didn't find out who exactly he was until a few days ago, when Simon introduced him to me as Markus a few days ago..." Josh mentions, scratching the back of his head somewhat sheepishly, "We've been teaming up for a while, but I never saw him without the mask... still, I've seen enough of him that I recognized him easily enough."

Connor supposes that's understandable. "You seem the upstanding type." He comments at that point, "Why at all be an informant for an art thief?"

Josh throws a sideways glance at Simon before looking up at Connor with a gentle but resolute expression. "Precisely because of my 'type'." He says, as if saying the sky is blue, "The people that we helped repossess their artwork were not in a fair fight. We just evened out the odds." He briefly stops himself with a chuckle. "Well, _Cat_ did. I helped along."

Idly, Connor notices that _'Cat'_ and _'Markus'_ are still sort of separate in Josh's mind; and he feels slightly vindicated in his own inner turmoil about it. He's also noticed that both Simon and Josh have only had good things to say about Markus so far, and none of what they confessed is too terribly incriminating yet. The detective wonders whether Markus knows how trustworthy his friends are.

"I hope you understand; I don't want to hurt Markus." He says, fists clenching at his sides, "And I hope you understand why I _need_ to know what his next objective is. I—" his voice trembles and he bites the inside of his cheek. "I need to be there."

Both men before him exchange a look. Connor doesn't know what they've seen in him, whether it's his desperation to understand or his need to find Markus to sway them, but they share a smile before Josh turns back to him. "Look. I really don't know where Markus is right now, otherwise I'd tell you, knowing what I know now..." Connor clings on that pause with all the hope he's got, "But I can tell you where he'll be next, yes, and... it's a shot in the dark but he mentioned another friend. I only have a first name, 'North'. It could be just an alias, but if you find her... maybe she'll know where he is. Sorry it's not much to go on."

"It's more than I had to go on before." An accomplice. That explains a lot. The way he'd always manage to vanish after jumping off buildings, for example. Someone would plant a vehicle in the vicinity for him. And possibly a change of clothes, along with his personal effects.

Markus never mentioned a 'North' to him, but he did mention a close childhood friend who takes care of the cats when he's away... he'd have to get a warrant to search Markus' apartment to find her contact or any sort of lead to her. Is finding out the truth worth a further, horribly invasive breach of boundaries? Is it worth actually becoming the bad guy?

For the chance to see Markus again and make sure things between them are not completely fucked? Easily worth it, and then some.

...sweet Jesus, Connor, it's only been _one day_!

Something inside him knows, though, it's not the time the problem. It's the tension. Markus' nervousness as he left last night was palpable; and Connor has the definite suspicion the Cat's next objective is a big one. "You've already been a huge help, Josh." He assures the informer, taking on a pleading tone, "But I still have to ask. Where will he go next?"

"Okay..." Josh concedes, his expression growing tight, "But you're not gonna like this..."

 

Not liking it is a euphemism. Connor abhors the idea of Markus sneaking into an art auction between crime lords.

Since he won't get prosecuted and he can see plain as day that Connor truly cares for Markus, Josh gives him everything he gave to the Cat -date, guests, hosts, the venue, the pieces... even which one Cat Lad will be there for.

Lieutenant Anderson and his unit are preparing the bust as of this very moment, and Connor not only offered himself as support considering they have it on good authority that the Cat will be there, he also swallows his fear and tells Fowler the thief’s identity to get his warrant.

The Captain nearly removes him from the case on account of being emotionally invested, but he manages to convince his commanding officer that he has a better chance at catching Markus than anyone else _precisely_ because of that involvement: Markus will _let_ him get close.

“You know I _always_ accomplish my mission.” It takes a lot of mental fortitude to keep up the determined, stone-cold and impassive face that in his rookie days earned him the nickname ‘android detective’. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, regardless of any personal involvement.”

Finally, Fowler caves: “Fine. I’ll sign the damn warrant.” He says, “Just… don’t make me regret this.”

 

The sound of Markus’ lock breaking open is deafening to Connor’s ears, louder even than the guilt hopping around in his head –a part of him is screaming that he _shouldn’t_ feel guilty, that none of this would have happened if Markus hadn’t been breaking the law…

But then again, they also would never have met

And what wrong is Markus doing, really? Taking stuff that isn’t his? It didn’t belong to the ones he took it from, either. Running rooftops and resisting arrest in an outfit entirely too sexy to even be true? Everyone does stupid shit every once and a while in their life.

So who really is on the right side? Is there even a right side to be on, in this whole mess?

 _Stop it. You’re questioning too much again._ Connor bites at his lips and tries to fix the harness for his holster around his chest so it would _stop_ feel so goddamn _heavy_. It doesn’t.

He takes a deep breath and flings the door open.


	7. But the Cat came back...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You came back..." 
> 
>  
> 
> _«Don't you know how the song goes?»_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS KICKED MY ASS HOLY FUCK.
> 
> The story itself has ended, but there's an epilogue coming to tie it up in a nice little bow.
> 
> First of all, I'd like to thank Sam for creating this fantastic concept.  
> And also the whole of the RK1K discord for letting me take this AU and run away with it.  
> This is our baby.  
> And I loved every second of it. I'm almost sad to see it come to an end, but...  
> ...it's the best possible end.
> 
> And _look!_ It's a happy one, just like I promised!!! ♥ ♥ ♥
> 
> ...Idk, my eyes hurt. Just take this.  
>  I love you all.  
> Hope it's a worthy conclusion -but really, there's gonna be one more chapter - title will be "...he just couldn't stay away" ;)

 

All that Connor found, besides an empty apartment, was a note on the piano... written in alternating penmanship of black and blue ink.

 

_“Sorry, tiger._

I never meant for any of this to happen. I never meant to fall for you,

_I just couldn't help myself. Cats sometimes become fixated when they want. And boy, did I want you._

This is all my fault. I should have put a stop to this well before the goddamn rooftop.

_I just have one more little thing to do, and then... then you win, luv._

I'll hand myself over to you personally after one last job. I have to keep a promise.

_Also... this is me breaking up with you, tiger._

Hopefully that'll make it easier to arrest me when the time comes. For what it's worth... I'm sorry it ended like this, but I'm not sorry it happened.

**_I love you,_ **

M.”

 

The last line is traced twice over, and the blue M has a black tail behind it.

Ambidexterity. That's... both impressive and worrying. Connor reads the note over and over, obsessing over every word, and he kinda gets the feeling Markus' personality changes slightly between the moments the cat suit is on and off. It's probably a defence mechanism to detach himself from all the shit that goes on at night, but still... it can't be healthy in the long run.

Connor needs to find him, and soon.

He pockets the note with a trembling sigh and starts looking around.

 

 

North should have seen this coming, really. It was a bad idea from the start, she should have told Markus to forget about the detective and go for the hot foreign guy who stopped by to bring the emerald back to its Country. _That_ could have been a fun fling.

But no, she let the idiot follow his heart because she's secretly a sap like that; and it resulted in Markus basically invading her apartment at _fucking hell o' clock_ last night, in tears and still wearing the fucking cat suit –it figures that the moment Cat Lad and Markus fully merged together would be a painful one.

He barely mumbled "Let me crash here, I've got to disappear for a while, wake me in two hours." and North didn't need to ask.

Something went wrong and he fucked up. She can tell by the bruised cheek and the bleeding leg he probably ran on and drove his motorbike with, possibly without even noticing the pain, the _idiot_. So North let him in, let him curl up on her couch with his head on her lap and gave him scratchies under his jaw until he fell asleep –she even managed to hold back on the "I told you so" _burning_ on the tip of her tongue.

She woke Markus up two hours later like he asked, helped him patch up his leg, assured him she'd go pick up the cats first thing and let herself be hugged tight as he whispered an apology that wasn't really hers to hear.

North did swing by her friend's apartment this morning, letting herself in with the spare key, opening the balcony door and playing the one song she had the patience to learn from Markus. It was easy enough to lure the four little troublemakers in her car with the promise of kitty snacks.

 

Other than that, her day really wasn't different from any other except the realization at the back of her head that Markus is _not_ okay and everything is fucked, but no.

Of course Fate had to go and be a little shit.

"Hello." She wonders what the fuck even possessed her to open the door, no one but Markus or her girlfriend ever swings by and they both have a key, damn it. "My name is Connor."

_Slam._

It might be a bit much to just slam the door in his face, but _fuck_ , it felt good.

The detective, obviously, doesn't give up. She opens the door again before he can kick it down.

"I was saying. My name is Connor." He repeats gently, "I'm a detective for the DPD and this is a police investigation. If you don't mind, I'd like to come in and ask you a few questions." ...and then not so gently. Yikes, Markus wasn't kidding, he can get a scary look on his face when he wants to.

But not so scary that she'd cave just like that. "Do you have a warrant, _officer_?"

Connor's stare doesn't falter. "Do I need one... _ma'am_?"

Damn, this guy is persistent. North can see why Markus likes him so much.

"By all means." She opens the door the rest of the way but leaves her hand on it, so Connor has to duck under her arm to step inside.

She's clearly trying to let him know who's in charge here. He can respect that –he has questions and she's the one holding the answers, the handle of the knife is in her hand. For now.

Immediately upon entering, Fuji and Sebastian come scrambling about at his feet. He can even see Pepper curled up on a chair and even Lucifer is here, staring at him through the railing of the stairs leading to the upper floor.  "These your cats?"

"Yes."

The lightning fast deadpan tells Connor she knew he wouldn't believe her. "Really? They seem to be recognizing me."

"Well, congratu- _fucking_ -lations." She snaps, "Yes, these are Markus' cats and you're his douchebag detective boyfriend, I'm taking care of them while he's away."

Connor holds his tongue on asking how does being on the side of the law makes _him_ the douchebag. "Away where?"

"He didn't tell me." He didn't have to. Whenever something upsets him, he goes straight to Carl's.

There's a moment of tense silence stretching between them, until Sebastian mewls pitifully at the detective's feet to be picked up and cuddled. Connor does. He suddenly doesn't look so hostile and intimidating anymore.

"Listen... the last thing I want is to hurt Markus." He says, letting the yellow cat happily nose along his hand, "But I'm a cop, and he... well, it's a bit of a grey area right now, but I just want to talk to him, to understand..." she doesn't seem as easily moved as Josh and Simon –much more protective, this one. "...and to try and convince him not to go to the auction. It's too dangerous."

That gets her attention. "How dangerous?"

"Dangerous enough that the DPD is gonna go bust it, sequester all the pieces and carry out at least sixteen arrests." He can feel her resolution crumble bit by bit. Just a little more. "Look, if I can convince Markus to cut a deal, he might not get it so bad." His voice takes on a pleading tone and he means his next words: "With a bit of luck, he won't even do too much time. However much I loathe the idea of arresting the man I love, I'd rather do that than watch him get shot to death by money launderers."

"Markus, you _fucking idiot_." North all but hisses to herself. Markus didn’t tell her the auction was going to be that dangerous. Fuck. That is a compelling argument if she ever heard one. She heaves a sigh in and out. On one hand, she promised Markus she wouldn't tell. On the other hand, _he_ also promised he wouldn't go and get his ass shot at.

Fuck it. It's for his own good.

"If you wanna find Markus..." she starts, hesitating just one more second, because it still kinda tastes like betrayal, "Try at his father's house. Carl Manfred. 8941 Lafayette Avenue."

She feels very ambivalent about telling, but just until she sees Connor's expression melt away to relief. "Thank you."

Promising, but still not off the hook. "I didn't do it for _you_." North clarifies; watching him gently set Sebastian down and walk to the door. "And Connor?"

He pauses.

"If you hurt Markus any more, I'll be the one to go to jail, but _you_ won't be there to be the one arresting me. Capisce?"

The detective's only reaction is a smile that is half kind and half dangerous. "If I do hurt him again, you'll be welcome to _try_ that."

Damn. She really can see why Markus likes him so much.

 

Connor still can't believe how naive he was to ever think Cat Lad was just another thief stealing for the money. Holy _shit_ this is a nice neighborhood. And he house he pulls up in front of... isn't a house. It's a freaking mansion. Getting strong Batman vibes, here.

He rings the bell and waits.

The face of the one opening the door is... not Markus', and definitely not friendly. Connor is having terrible luck with first impressions today.

Nevertheless, he clears his voice. "Hello. Is... Mr Manfred here?"

The pale brunette peeking through the sliver of open space scoffs. "You're looking at one of three."

Ah. Markus did mention a problematic step-brother.

"I need to see Markus. My name is Connor—"

"I know who you are." The young man interrupts, "I may not be on the best of terms with him, but if my brother comes home with a black eye I make it my business to _know_ who did it." Oh... damn. Connor suddenly feels very small— this must look terrible from an outsider’s point of view. "You're lucky he told us he lashed out first, or we'd be having a very different conversation right now."

That's... not exactly true. He just punched Cat Lad in the face because he was being a little shit –violence becomes less real in the heat of the chase, and already their adrenaline was spiking. It doesn't make what he did any less wrong, though, so why would Markus lie for him? On one hand, he is both thankful that Markus was still thoughtful enough not to paint him the bad guy; and at the same time happy to see Markus has so many people to support him, on the other hand... he just wants to talk to his boyfriend, damn it!

"Look." He almost growls, slamming his hand on the door before the other can close it in his face, "I'm not some sort of abusive Bogeyman hunting his victim. I just want to talk to Markus. It's important."

"Yeah well, how about you take your 'importance' and shove it up your a—"

"Leo." A voice from inside calls, before the young man could say anything that would get him in trouble, "It's fine."

Connor's breath hitches as if it had been a year rather than a day.

From behind the door, Markus comes into view, looking tired and drained but _oh_ so beautiful, like he possibly never was: he is dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but he moves with the sharp calculated grace that has only been seen around rooftops, even as he just urges his brother to step aside.

It's definitely Markus, but he's also Cat Lad at the same time and it would be a _crime_ to even think one should exist without the other.

"I'll talk to him, you can go back to stay with dad. Please."

Surprisingly, Leo relents quite easily at that. Either they're on better terms than they give themselves credit for, or not even someone as callous as Leo Manfred can resist Markus' big bright kitty-cat eyes.

Connor mentally kicks himself _–not the time!_

"What do you want?"

Ouch. That's an ice cold shower he didn't need.

"Markus—"

"Who told you you could find me here?"

"Please, I just—"

"What did you tell North to make her tell you?"

A part of Connor is impressed with Markus' quick wit and sharp intuition, but another, more prominent part of him has been awake since 5 am, has been running about all day and is just about _done_ with this crap.

" _For fuck's sake_ , Markus, will you let me get a word in edgewise?!"

Markus is taken aback for a moment; and the iciness in his gaze crumbles slightly as he nods, stepping out and closing the door behind his back with a small sigh. "Keep it down." He asks, strangely meek in comparison to his stoic countenance just now, "They don't know yet."

"What did you tell them about me?" It's definitely not Connor's top priority to know that, and yet... he felt slighted by Leo's hostility –he did nothing wrong! Well. Except punching a man who didn't really deserve it.

"Not much. We had a fight; I overreacted and lashed out at you, so you hit me in self-defence."

The most ridiculous lie to tell. _Markus_ on the verge of gratuitous violence. "And they believed that?"

The question does earn the detective a slightly awkward smile – _there you are, Markus._

"Not at first." He admits, "Then I mentioned that I believed you were cheating on me and that was the reason I lashed out."

There's a million things Connor could say to that –why lie to his family for his sake? Why not just take the easy route and say he was an abusive asshole? How much forgiveness can _one_ person have in themselves? But all that comes out of his mouth is: " _Was I_ cheating on you?"

"I don't know. _Were you_?" Shot back at him instantly and with all the confidence of the Cat. Even his posture is slightly different –not quite the challenging stance of the latex-clad thief, but still a far cry from the near slouch of the awkward reporter making himself seem smaller and meeker than he actually was. Connor is watching these two sides of Markus swirl together in a storm behind his eyes and, _fuck_ , he's falling in love all over again. "Answer. Which one were you chasing after, all along?”

“Both.” Is the first, instinctive thing out of his mouth, “Neither. I don’t know. I fucking had a _dream_ about unmasking the Cat and finding you, before I even knew.” Shit, that’s possibly the most embarrassing thing he ever admitted to someone. Having dreams about a masked character like a teenaged comic book fanboy.

It seems, however, to take Markus off-guard. His eyes widen minutely, and then lower to the side.

"So... what now?" He asks, not quite looking back up at him, but rather keeping his eyes somewhere level with Connor's neck, "Are you gonna arrest me?"

"That depends..." the detective answers, trying not to think about how the place Markus' gaze is fixating on is where Cat Lad left his latest love-bite under the collar of his shirt, "Is that what it will take to get you not to go to that auction?"

"God _fucking damn it_ , Josh..."

" _Please_ , Markus. Don't go." Connor pleads, hands instinctively shooting forward to grab him by the shoulders –fuck, how can you miss touching someone so much when it's barely been one fucking day?— "Come with me. It's not as bad as you think. You can come now, and... and it'll be alright..."

Blue and green grow warmer for that voice. Markus didn't think he'd see Connor at all until he turned himself over and goddamn it all he still makes him want to say 'yes' to everything. Those deceptively sweet doe-eyes, the touch of his hands, the curve of his lips as he urges him to do the right thing...

The right thing.

There's nothing 'right' about any of this.

"I can't." He didn't think it would pain him so much not to give in right here and now. "A man's dying wish, Connor. I have to honor that. After that... I promise, I'll be all yours."

Connor closes his eyes. He might lose his job over this, but... he already gave Cat Lad a head-start, once. Markus is possibly even more deserving of one.

"The DPD will bust the auction tomorrow night." He warns, taking a last look at Markus, "Don't let me find the statuette on your person, and the rest will sort itself out."

It hits Markus harder than any declaration of love possibly could. "I... thank you."

"I'll see you then."

Markus watches Connor go, and can't help but call out after him: "Hey!!!" He doesn't hold back the smile or the wink when the other turns to hear him say: "See you next time, _tiger_."

It hurts that the small smile on Connor's lips doesn't reach his eyes.

 

The night of the auction comes all too soon, but Markus has been preparing for this and he's already crawling through the venue's ventilation shaft towards the auction hall. The place is a five star hotel, one of those places fancy enough to hold conferences and galas; it's quite ironic that an auction of organized crime is taking place in the same building that delegates and other important names are staying at –apparently there's some meeting or other about whatever shit politicians are into these days, so there's a lot of bigwigs and their families around and security has been ramped up.

Possibly another reason why they chose to hold the auction here and tonight –definitely the reason why he's moving in through the _goddamn_ ventilation shaft.

The first few pieces have come and gone, the one he's interested in is, ironically enough, a black cat statuette with sapphire eyes. Sculpted by a lady for the man she loved, taken away after she passed on with botched inheritance excuses and passed through the hands of less and less scrupulous people, until...

The man just wants to see it returned home before he dies.

Markus will make it happen for him. A last gesture of goodwill before hanging up his claws.

There. Lot #684-842-971. He slinks down the vent and sneaks into the control panel room.

He licks his lips as he gets his claws out.

"And now, this beautiful piece. The statuette is entirely obsidian with sapphire stones for the eyes. Starting price is—"

Everything goes dark.

"Please stay in your seats, surely this is just a temporary malfunction and the emergency lights will kick on any minute."

Markus shouldn't screw with this people. He bagged the statuette he should just get the fuck out, but... Connor and his men are gonna bust in any minute, now. He doesn't like the idea of leaving him facing a bunch of already pissed criminals. He makes a choice. "Oh, what a _purr_ -fect little host you are." He says, rolling out the 'r' in the word 'perfect' to make it sound like an actual cat purr.

The tenuous emergency lights come on and several guns get pointed at Markus.

He gulps down the fear. "You didn't really think something so beautiful was fit to stare at any of your ugly mugs, did you?"

 

Connor feels slightly better about this with Hank by his side: it's going to be his first big bust, and if that wasn't enough reason already he has no idea of when and where Markus will strike. He lied to Fowler and said that he was unable to locate him, but tonight gloves will be off –they all know who Cat Lad is now; and he won't get away with whipcracks and winks tonight.

_«All units in position and waiting.»_

Connor may or may not have been making them stall to give Markus time to sneak the cat statuette out.

Then everything goes dark.

They won't get a better chance than this. He takes a deep breath.

"Let's move in."

 

Markus has stared down the barrel of Connor's gun before, but there's a difference between facing off someone who you know is not going to shoot and someone with every intention to.

"You don't really think you're gonna get away with this, do you, _freak_? Do you even know who you're stealing from?" Oh he has done his research, yes. Most of the people here hide their criminal activities behind an impeccable front, this man in particular uses art trade to cover money laundering -which he does to clean the dirty money he gets from weapons trade. So, definitely dangerous. He stepped well into Markus' personal space to speak –ah, so not immune to a bit of _feline charm,_ either. "So be a good pussycat and hand over the goods..." He reaches out a hand to grab at Markus' chin, "And _maybe_ you get out of here with your ears still attached."

Bad move, motherfucker. Markus is definitely not in the mood. "Sorry, hotshot." He says, pretending to lean into it, "I _don't_ allow pet names on the first date."

The whipcrack is deafening in the auction hall, resounding through the stunned silence of an audience that can't believe a nobody freak with a costume just whipped an influential mob boss across the face.

Markus takes advantage of the collective shock and leaps back towards the vent access, while the criminal wipes a bit of the blood running down his cheek.

"Five hundred thousand bucks for the Cat's head!" He declares loud enough for everyone to hear, "A million for the _tail_." He adds with a derisive smirk.

Three things happen simultaneously: Markus disappears into the ventilation shaft; two dozen guns are extracted from their holsters and pointed at the direction he just dove in, and...

"Everybody freeze! Detroit Police!!!"

_Oh, thank you, tiger._

Everyone's attention turns to the many agents breaching through all the doors –Markus suddenly becomes unimportant again as the criminal start trying to flee, and he takes full advantage of that to slink away. It's only gonna be a matter of time until someone opens fire.

He curses his own thoughts when he hears shooting and screaming, as if he himself somehow jinxed it -he makes it all the way to the staff exit where his motorcycle is hidden, opens the door, turns back...

...and is met with silence.

Usually Connor would be hot on his heels and they'd be having one of their climatic face-offs at this point.

The stillness and the dark seem to be mocking him. Stupid fucking gangsters, ruining art, ruining _everything_.

Markus knows he should go.

He should _go_ while everyone is busy trying to kill each other, it'll be his easiest heist yet...

"Fuck this." He tosses his bag in the bike's helmet holder and runs back in.

The auction hall is still chaos but from what he can see five arrests have already been carried out and three more are on the way. He can see Lieutenant Anderson behind a row of seats fending off two assholes shooting at him. Connor is nowhere in sight.

Markus drops down the vent and onto said assholes, landing on the shoulders of one of them and bringing him down on the floor with him by locking his thighs around his neck –couple seconds in that chokehold and the first one is out cold. The second one startled with a cry and turns to point his gun at Markus, but it's all the time Anderson needed to vault the seats and charge the criminal.

Markus gets back up and addresses the man. "Lieutenant Anderson! Are you unhurt? Where's Connor?"

His question doesn't seem to fully register yet as Hank gives him a once over and shakes his head in disbelief. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ, kid, it actually _is_ you..."

"Yes, and I promise I'll be the seventeenth arrest of tonight." He assures, grabbing the man by one arm for emphasis, "Where's Connor?"

"He took off after the big fish and his faithful few."

The man who offered 500k for his head and a million for his 'tail'? Fantastic.

"Fuck." This is all kinds of horrible. "Which way?"

"Into the lobby, towards the first floor— hey!!!" Hank isn't fast enough to prevent Markus from snatching his radio from the belt's holster.

"You wrap things up here, I'll go back Connor up."

While grateful for someone else looking out for his son, Hank is not okay with the idea, "Kid, wait— _Markus_!!!" but alas, the Cat is too fast for him and already went on to chase his prey.

 

_«Hey, tiger... Miss me?»_

Markus' voice through the speaker nearly makes him lose his footing.

"You came back..." by all intents and purposes, he shouldn't sound so dazed in the middle of a chase. "Why the fuck are you still in here?!"

 _«Don't you know how the song goes?»_ Markus' answer is punctuated by a chuckle and the clang of metal -he's probably climbing around the outside of the building. _«Well, since you were so nice to give me a head-start, I thought I'd be nice to you and be your back up. Everybody else is a bit tied up, and you're alone against three... you know I'm all about evening the odds.»_

Connor would like to tell him he doesn't need him. He'd like to tell him to get the _hell_ out of here and save himself, but... he's seen what Markus can do with his claws and whip –he's seen it on the face of the mob boss he's chasing right now– strategically, his best choice is... "They're running up to the smoking lobby. Hurry and cut them off." He also tries not to think of the fact that a more selfish part of his brain _wants_ to see Markus, everything else be damned.

_«See you there, tiger.»_

The hotel's smoking lobby is a dead end –there's only a service door holding staff facilities beyond it, so the front door is the only access in or out of the room, and the only alternative is the window: a bit of a tumble but, being only one floor above ground level, perfectly survivable.

"Hello there, hotshot." Unless, of course, someone drops into the window from above. Connor cannot quite contain a smirk upon seeing Markus cut off the criminals' escape. "Going somewhere?"

A cop at the door, a freak at the window, and several scared civilians in the middle... the criminal boss makes a very predictable choice.

"Nobody move!"

The frightened scream of a husband that sees his wife snatched from their embrace is also the moment everything freezes.

Connor and Markus exchange a silent look –this can go very wrong, very fast.

"Now you drop your gun." The mobster barks in Connor's direction, "And tell your little freak friend to step away from the window, or we're gonna paint this carpet nice and red."

"P-please... I didn't do anything... I don't know anything..." the woman is being held by the neck, obviously very frightened for her life and her husband's, but her eyes are still lucid, searching Connor's gaze for... reassurance? No. _Advice._

She wants to _help_. Holy shit, that's one brave civilian. "It's going to be okay, ma'am." He says, holding out one arm and making no sudden movements as he starts lowering the gun towards the floor very slowly and pointedly looking at her the whole time. "I will put the gun down, my friend will move away from the window, and they will let you go... _now!_ "

The hostage elbows her captor in the ribs just as a whipcrack resounds through the air and hits the gun away from the second man's arm.

"That was your last mistake, you little shi—" the boss tries to take aim at Connor and shoot, but the detective is already doing the same.

Two shots echo through the air, but only one man is left standing.

Connor grits his teeth and brings his free hand to apply pressure to the graze on his right shoulder, and Markus breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing the mobster crumple to the floor in pain –he'll live, but he's not getting up anytime soon.

"Anyone _else_ wanna do a High Noon stand off?"

Both remaining thugs raise their hands, Markus instantly steps inside from his perch and asks the lady if she's okay while Connor keeps his gun carefully trained on the two remaining hostages.

"Wilson, do you copy?"

_«Yeah?»_

"Send the paramedics in." The detective calls, "There was a hostage situation and I was forced to shoot a man. Abdomen wound, not fatal but he needs medical attention. We— shit!"

In a last ditch attempt to escape, one of the two thugs took one of the numerous decorative candleholders and tossed it onto the carpeted floor, with a very predictable result.

“Nevermind! Sound the fire alarm, secure the arrests and evacuate the premises!” Connor immediately notifies his partner through the radio, while the thugs are trying to take advantage of the chaos and spreading fire to hightail it out –because of _course_ the candle flames would catch the carpet _and_ the corner of the curtain by the door. “I’m going after them, you get this people out of here!”

There would be some introspection to be made about going from nemesis to teammates, but there’s a literal fire going on and people to save.

“Stay behind me, ma’am!” Markus steps in front of the lady they just saved, pulls out his whip and cracks it at the wall opposite to him –where he could see the fire alarm button. “Shit.” A first shot misses, but it gives him the calculations he needs to succeed on the second attempt. “Fuck, that would’ve looked so cool on first try.”

He wouldn’t exactly call ‘lucky’ that the people present are too terrified about the fire spreading to comment on his little faux-pas, but he still clears his voice awkwardly. “Come on, people! Don’t panic, I’ll get you all out of here.”

There’s a total of five adults still present in the room, and he helps them climb out of the window one by one before going back for the unconscious mob boss.

Markus meets Lieutenant Anderson half-way to the emergency meeting point with the wounded criminal still slung over his back.

He barely has the presence of spirit to thank the heavens that several trained DPD officers were already there when the fire started to coordinate a proper evacuation of the hotel’s occupants and personnel.

“Shit, kid, you’re a lot more merciful than I’d be.”

He may or may not invalidate Hank’s statement when he sets the man down none too gently for the paramedics to take over, but that’s not his concern right now: “Where’s Connor?”

“He chased out the two idiots who started the fire and handed them over to Miller.” The Lieutenant answers, “He was right here, by—” when Hank turns, Connor is nowhere in sight. Again.

_«I’m just making a quick run for anyone that might be trapped inside, be right out!»_

“What?!”

Anderson is not the only outraged one, but Markus fears he already knows wat happened. “Did anyone miss the roll call?”

“My daughter!” calls a voice from a group of people being assisted, “We were in the lounge and she was sleeping in our room, I— I haven’t seen her since before the alarm.”

Markus kinda recognizes the man –he’s a magistrate of some kind, probably only in the city for the conference and dragging his family around because they either couldn’t find a babysitter or whatever else happened… another victim of unfair circumstances and shitty people trying to get away with hurting others. None of this would have happened if he and the DPD hadn’t crashed the black auction, sure, but… no. He won’t let innocents die in a fire just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he doesn’t care that the fire brigade is already on the way. “Which room?”

“304.”

He turns to Hank. “Take a radio and keep the contact open, I’m going back in!”

 

“Connor! Connor, can you hear me?” Markus stumbles through the burning lobby, trying and closing all the doors of the rooms where fire is spreading, to prevent it from eating further into the building –the door handles would be burning to the touch, but he’s got clawed gloves, “We have one minor unaccounted for, third floor, I’m already on my way!”

_«Got it, I’ll meet you there.»_

Nice try, tiger, but not good enough. “Connor, listen to me.” He says, “If you cannot find a secure route, get the _fuck_ out.”

_«Not a chance, kitty-cat. I’m not leaving you alone to do this.»_

“Not the time to be grandstanding, _tiger_!” Markus doesn’t waste time in going up the stairs like a normal person, and just leaps from banister to banister. “But if you’re still up for partying, room 304 is where it’s at. Fire hasn’t reached this floor yet, but there’s a lot of smoke.”

_«Race you, kitty-cat.»_

“You should probably stop breathing in all this smoke, _tiger._ ”

The alarm still blaring off is loud enough to make his head feel like it’s gonna split. If he wasn’t wearing his cat mask and goggles covering his eyes and nose, Markus would probably already be passing out because of all the shit he’d have inhaled –he doesn’t even want to _think_ what state Connor must be in after doubling back, let alone a child who’s been caught unaware and trapped inside.

Case in point, Connor is stumbling and coughing when they find each other in front of door 304 –he’s also _still bleeding from the shoulder_.

Markus wants to yell at his boyfriend – _ex-_ boyfriend, his brain traitorously supplies, and that’s his own dumb fault– but there’s no time for stubborn disputes, and he just spares a look to him before he knocks on the door to alert anyone inside to their presence. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

The first answer is a broken series of coughs. And then— “I’m scared!”

Shit, she must not be older than _ten_ , this must be terrifying. Without thinking, Markus splays both hands on the door and leans closer. “It’s gonna be alright baby, we’re with the police, we’re gonna get you out of here!”

There is no fire yet in that particular room, so it should be relatively safe to open the door… even though technically keeping it closed is what has protected the room so far –it’s been a few minutes already and part of the second floor is already being invaded by the flames… soon enough the fire will come up the stairs, they have to be quick.

Exchanging a nod with Connor, Markus just kicks open the door. “Hello?” Connor calls, voice growing slightly hoarse from all the smoke he inhaled, “This is detective Connor Anderson, I’m here to take you back to your mom and dad!”

They find the little girl hiding in the suite’s bathroom –clever little missy: tiled floor, so non-flammable, and plenty of water sources to keep the worst at bay. She has already wet a hand towel and is keeping it in front of her face. She giggles behind the towel upon seeing Markus. “A kitty!”

Of course. A child wouldn’t know the difference between a fetish costume and a funny character.

“Yes! I’m a… superhero cat! What’s your name, luv?” Markus says, as he extends a hand towards the little girl.

“Annie.”

Markus kneels towards her and does something he never did before –he takes his yellow-tinted goggles off. Connor tries not to stare as the other gives the goggles to Annie to keep her eyes safe, and focuses on just calling it in. “Lieutenant, this is Connor. We’ve secured the little girl, we’ll be out immediately.”

 _«Thank fuck.»_ is the answer, _«Get the fuck out, the fire brigade is here but it ain’t looking pretty from outside!»_

Connor nearly feels his heart stops when he turns to look at Markus.

Markus, in Cat Lad’s latex suit, but with his bright, mismatched eyes now visible under the cat mask, without the goggles. It’s almost jarring— up until this moment, the knowledge that the Cat and Markus were the same person had been there, in the back of his head, but it hadn’t been _real_ , not yet. _This_ is real. Markus really is the latex-clad shadow that has both haunted his dreams, made his work hell, and saved him from falling off a building.

“Here, you take her and stay away from the windows for now, I’ll try and scout the way out.”

Right. They have a life to save. “Y-yes.”

Judging by the cloud of smoke coming from the stairs and Markus’ coughs as he rushes back into the room, they can’t go out the way they came. “Nevermind! We’re taking the high road!”

“Markus—” Connor is interrupted by the other slamming the nearest window open and leaning out to look for the fire escape –not the smartest thing to do in case of fire, but the flames haven't reached them yet and they have a good chance of getting out.

“Oh good, they’re already starting to put out the fire! Come on!” he extends his arms towards the detective, and Connor thinks better of arguing –he’s already starting to feel lightheaded from smoke inhalation, it’s better if Markus is the one carrying the child when he can barely even carry himself.

It’s almost comical when, for added safety, Markus ties the tail of his costume around Annie’s waist. “Are you afraid of heights, luv?”

“Um… only a little.”

“Then hold on tight and close your eyes.” Markus hops onto the windowsill and extends his free hand to Connor. “Come on.”

Their very survival is at stake here, but it still feels like reconciliation to the detective, when he takes the Cat’s hand in his. They both almost died today. Connor is more than willing to let bygones be bygones.

 

“My baby! Oh my God, babygirl you’re safe…” Ah. There’s nothing like a worried parent hugging their child and kissing their forehead over and over in both worry and relief. “Thank you. Whoever you are, _thank you_.”

The earnest, heartfelt words are very much worth the awareness that he’s probably gonna be arrested, as soon as the paramedics deem him good enough to go.

It’ll be a rather anticlimactic ending to tonight’s adventure, but… at least nobody died. Not even the bad guys.

Both he and Connor have been given oxygen masks and a blanket; and they’re being lectured by the doctor in charge.

“You both did a very stupid, reckless thing, running back in there.” The medic is telling them right now. And she’s right. “It doesn’t matter whether you have a badge or a costume, _neither_ makes you invulnerable! You can’t just play superhero because you feel like it!”

Both of them duck their head. But, as they chance a look at each other, they also start to laugh. It’s possible that the reality of almost having burned to death is not quite sinking in, or maybe it’s sinking in all too well, but Connor can’t help the relief bubbling in his chest and coming out as laughter –Markus is here. He’s _alive_ and they’re okay.

Well, he’s probably still going to jail and everything about _that_ is fucked, but… if he reached out his hand right now, he could still touch the face of the man he loves.

That counts for something.

“That being said… what you boys did was also very selfless. And a child would’ve died without you, so… maybe sometimes people willing to be superheroes are exactly what we need.” She winks at them both. “But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“ _Connor!_ ”

Ouch, _that_ tone. Anderson is pissed. He possibly was scared shitless for his son’s life. Markus can relate, he was scared shitless too.

The Lieutenant wastes no time in coming up to Connor and enveloping him in a brusque sort of hug. “First of all: what the fuck were you thinking?!” is the first thing he asks upon pulling away, but doesn’t really give his son the time to answer as he carries on: “Second of all: _never_ fucking do that again! And third…” there’s a pause that quickly turns awkward as soon as Hank turns to give Markus a _look_ before focusing back on Connor. “… _kitty-cat_?! Seriously? Jesus, Connor…”

The young detective’s expression quickly goes from relieved to mortified. “…you heard that.”

At his side, Markus chuckles lowly. “Open radio contact, _tiger_.” He reminds him, “The entirety of your team heard that.”

Well… there goes the whole goddamn station’s source of amusement for the next few months. Connor just couldn’t help it. He heard Markus’ voice, he missed it _so much_ , and they were already running on adrenaline, _again…_ “You’re laughing now just because you’re still behind the mask.”

True enough. He’s relinquished the tinted goggles for Annie’s protection, but the suit and mask are still in place and still providing a significant confidence-boost… possibly more than usual, with the feeling of people seeing both Markus _and_ Cat Lad in the same, powerful individual. Shame that such a realization comes so close to his arrest.

Silence stretches between the three of them, and Markus himself is the one to break it.

He stands up and sets aside the blanket they had put around his shoulders. “Well. No use dragging this out. Are all the other bad guys secured?”

Hank nods numbly. “They’re already organizing transport. A lot of the black auction merch was destroyed beyond recognition, so…”

Holy shit. Lieutenant Hank Anderson is giving him a chance to run away. It’s tempting like nothing has ever been before, but… Markus looks at Connor. He’d never be able to face those brown eyes again if he kept running, so he shakes his head with a resigned smile. “I may not have anything on my person tonight, but… come on, old man Anderson. I’ve got to answer for everything else.”

“Markus… kid, I—”

Markus pliantly holds his arms out and Hank is reluctantly cuffing him, when a tiny voice asks:

“Dad? Why are they arresting the kitty?”

If the silence of the night hadn’t been disturbed by the noises of the fire brigade still at work and all the people coordinating to get guests and staff to safety after the evacuation, several hearts could have been heard breaking.

“Because the kitty took some things that aren’t his, babygirl.”

Annie doesn’t seem satisfied by the answer and runs up to stand in-between Markus and Hank. “But he saved me!” she protests, “Cats just like shiny things! He’s not a bad guy! Can’t you forgive him just this once?” she asks, with all the innocent stubbornness children are capable of, “If he promises not to do it again?”

Markus is just about melting. “Oh, luv…”

Not even Hank is immune to those puppy eyes. “It… doesn’t work like that, kiddo.” He shrugs his shoulders, “I’m not the one who gets to decide that.”

Even more unsatisfied the girl runs back to her father. “Dad! You get to decide who the bad guys are, right?!” she tugs at her father’s sleeves to drag him closer to Markus’ cuffed form. “He’s _not_ a bad guy!”

From what little he’s followed on the news, this young man stole several thousand dollars’ worth of artwork, all in the name of vigilante justice, apparently… and his shenanigans just so happened to uncover several illicit activities across Detroit that had gone overlooked because nowadays people tend not to care about art.

And, today, he just aided a police raid and helped evacuate a burning building, saving no less than six lives, including his own daughter’s.

Many people in this world are deserving of rotting in a cell.

This crazy, whip-wielding weirdo in a latex costume is… _not_ one of them. “Lieutenant Anderson, was it?”

Hank perks up at being addressed. “Yes sir?”

“It’ll take me a couple of days to get the official paperwork sorted, but…” the magistrate looks down at his daughter with a smile, “I think the heroic behaviour this young man displayed tonight is deserving of having his past deeds pardoned.”

Markus’ eyes widen in disbelief, just like Connor’s head turns to look at him in likewise shocked fashion. “Really?” the Cat can’t help but ask, even as Hank is already uncuffing him with a chuckle.

“Really.” The man confirms with a gentle smile and –seriously– how could anyone want to send this boy to prison? “ _Provided_ you’ll stop going around and trying to be Robin Hood all by yourself—”

He doesn’t get to finish the phrase, because he gets jump-hugged by the Cat Lad, who happily agrees to the terms. “I will! I promise!”

Holy shit, this _is_ just like a comic book! Markus cannot believe it –well, he can see how it’d make sense, but rarely in real life have kindness and selflessness been rewarded even when operating outside the law. He is one lucky cat.

The magistrate pats his back somewhat awkwardly and he gets back to a more respectable distance. “Sorry about that.” He clears his voice and pointedly ignores Anderson laughing at him, opting to kneel to Annie instead, “Did you hear that, luv? They’re forgiving me, thanks to you.”

She rewards him with the bright sort of smile that only a kid could give you –and she’s _still_ wearing his goggles. “It was the right thing to do.”

This is so goddamn precious he could cry. He stands up and turns—

—finding himself face to face with Connor.

“Oh, holy fuck, here we go.” Anderson literally rolls his eyes and ‘nopes’ away from the scene, holding a hand out to Annie. “Come along kiddo, let’s give these two some alone time.”

Neither Connor nor Markus heard that.

They’re just there, standing outside an ambulance, staring at each other. Still covered in soot –Connor barely even let the paramedics patch up his shoulder and he’s still wearing his uniform and holster, although the right sleeve has been completely ripped off.

It’s like they’re looking at one another for the first time all over again.

“So…” Connor starts, voice still trembling with disbelief, “You’re gonna be off the hook, for your _heroic_ deeds.”

“That’s… that’s what it sounds like.” Markus echoes absently running the tip of his fingers where the latex mask meets his cheekbone –it’s still a bit surreal to look Connor in the eyes as he _knows_ , even more so while wearing the cat-suit.

Shit, this _whole night_ has been surreal. One minute he’s sneaking along unnoticed, before he makes the incredibly stupid decision to turn himself into bait for the crime-lords and give Connor more time to carry out his big bust, then people are having a goddamn _shootout_ and he willingly drops in the line of fire to assist Anderson… then a fucking building catches on _fire_ and all of a sudden he and Connor are _heroes_?

That’s a crazy Wednesday night if there ever was one, holy goddamn.

He’s still reeling.

He’s getting _pardoned_. He saved _actual_ lives tonight, and because of that he’s getting his crimes up to now _officially pardoned_.

Connor seems to have had the same train of thought but a faster recovery speed, because he grabs Markus by his clawed hands and ask: “Does that mean you can take me back, now?”

Markus is, for lack of a better word, absolutely fucking floored. _He_ is supposedly the one who has to decide to take Connor back?! Hell, he’s surprised _Connor_ still wants him at all!

He is one hell of a lucky Cat. He lets his lips part in a smile, made sharper than it should be by the mask’s outline. “I… yes.” He says, ignoring the way his own voice chokes up. “Yes. You won’t get rid of me that easily, _tiger_.”

The only answer Connor dignifies him with is a sudden, bruising kiss.

Which gets met with hoots and catcalls by the rest of the DPD team.

They don’t pay it any mind as they keep holding each other and Connor chuckles, leaning his forehead against Markus’. “You know… I’m almost sad that this is the last I’ll see of Cat Lad.”

“Hmmm.” Markus hums just before licking his lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“What?!”

Realizing exactly where the detective's thoughts went, he actually laughs at that reaction. “Easy there, _tiger_ … I was more thinking of creating a gig out of it— you know, a legal version of what I was already doing…”

Oh. _Oooh._ Damn it. Connor had been so happy about not having to see Markus jailed that he forgot that there even was a world outside the two of them, and once Markus mentioned keeping the cat-suit he immediately thought of all the fantasies it ignites in him. “Ah… I see.” He says, awkwardly clearing his voice and trying _not_ to wish that the asphalt would swallow him down, “That’s… that’s a cool idea.”

It’s then that Markus’ sweet smile takes on the feline sort of mischief that, now that it’s out in the open, Connor can’t help but love: “But maybe it can also have a more… private use.” He whispers, leaning in for another kiss, “ _If_ you’re a good boy.”

“ _Holy shit, Markus._ ”

When they first met, Cat Lad was infuriating, but mysterious and exciting. Markus was an awkward disaster, but also sweet and adorable. Now that he can see that Markus is _both_ , Connor has no doubts:

…if there really is a lucky cat in all of this, it’s _him_.


	8. ...he just couldn't stay away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know… I kinda miss your old costume.”
> 
> Markus chuckles, low and easy. “Gotta keep it PG-13, _tiger._ ”
> 
> “Oh, please.” is the immediate answer, “Nothing about you has _ever_ been PG-13… kitty-cat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP THERE WE GO GOTTA POST THIS OR MY HANDS ARE NOT GONNA LET ME GO GET READY FOR WORK.
> 
> THIS IS IT, WE'RE DONE.
> 
> Holy shit, what a ride.  
> Sorry for the reduced length of this Epilogue, hopefully it's as sweet as it is short.
> 
> Once again, THANK YOU Sam and Star for creating art for this beautiful AU and spurring me to write it.  
> And THANK YOU to everyone who's been following it along all the way and stuck aroud for the ending.
> 
> ....also, Kyra, my love, sorry for my bad timing, AGAIN. ♥
> 
> See you all with Walls 10 and all the delicious prompts I still have to finish!
> 
> oh! and for anyone curious... guess which [ABBA t-shirt](https://static2.stuff.co.nz/1368400811/623/8665623.jpg) is Markus wearing in bed.

 

Markus’ case makes the news –of course it does. Grand theft pardoned because of heroic actions? It’s the type of bullshit the media eats right up.

They spend the whole night at the precinct, giving statements and sorting paperwork, and then Connor takes pity on his boyfriend –they _didn’t_ break up after all– and sneaks him out the very moment Markus takes him aside and whispers the plea to him: “I need to call my family.”

Even without the Cat’s weapon of choice, Connor knows he’ll always be _whipped_ for those eyes.

It’s so bad that he actually agrees to stop at North’s to go get the cats.

“You fucking assholes—” it’s the first thing she tells them, aggressively hugging Markus first, and then slapping him across the face, “This is for risking your life like a dumbass!”

She then turns to Connor with both hands on her hips.

“And _you_ …” the detective actually closes his eyes to brace himself for impact… but none comes. North actually hugs him too. “This is for bringing this idiot back in one piece.” She’s really not as hostile a person as Connor’s first impression of her was –she actually smiles softly at him. “Now get him home, and make him call his father. If you two being here together means what I think it means, Lord knows there’ll be a shit storm tomorrow.”

Heh. Woman’s intuition to whole new levels –also maybe she knows Markus and knows exactly what kind of stupid stunts he pulls. Connor returns the smile. “Will do.”

Markus would probably complain and tell them to stop talking about him as if he wasn’t right there, but he’s distracted: “Lucifer!”

The white, heterochromatic cat bounds down the stairs and into Markus’ awaiting embrace.

“Yes, who’s a good baby boy? I almost thought I’d never see you again!”

Just like that, the other three cats come into view as if magically called. Pepper wakes up from where she was sleeping on the armchair, and Fuji and Sebastian run out from the kitchen. Connor secretly thinks it’s cute, to see the Cat finally among his brethren, while North just shakes her head.

“I swear to God, I’ll never understand what kind of Snow White-style bullshit you’ve got going on.”

Markus just chuckles at her as Pepper tries climbing his legs; and even Connor shakes his head. “Let’s just get them into the car.”

North is just about done with the whole lot of them. “Get the fuck out of here, lovebirds.”

 

Home, sweet home.

Markus can’t quite believe he’s actually setting foot back in his apartment tonight. He left the motorcycle out for North to go retrieve tomorrow –the one last favor she does to the Cat Lad— but other than that he was ready to be taken away; and instead… here he is.

He watches Lucifer immediately claim his perch on the piano, Pepper go for the couch and Fuji and Sebastian go curl up together in their favorite kitchen corner. They’ll all probably be gone come morning, but cats have a deeper intuition compared to humans, they can sense he needs the comfort.

Well. If the way Connor hasn’t let go of his hand is any indication, someone else can sense it too.

Markus walks the both of them to the bedroom and gets his phone. It obviously goes to voicemail, because it’s way too early in the morning, but he has to do this before he chickens out or, worse, Carl and Leo hear it from the morning news.

“Hello, Carl.” He starts when the beep signals him to, “I know it’s way too early for you to pick up, but I have a confession to make… do you remember that one painting that got ‘misplaced’ and it took a week and a half to ‘find’?”

Connor falls in a daze of sorts, as he hears Markus speak. He listens to the origin story from the Cat’s very own lips –and oh, the missing piece is Cat Lad’s _real_ first heist… his identity would have been much more obvious, had the detective known what happened when Markus was sixteen and already causing trouble.

It’s still mesmerizing to watch, the reality of ‘ _they’re gonna be fine’_ still not quite feeling 100% real, and half-way through the confession Connor switches from listening intently to just watching Markus’ lips move.

“…so yeah. I’m not gonna be prosecuted, but… it’s probably gonna make a lot of noise still. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me for keeping secrets. I love you both.”

He hangs up with a sigh, then feels eyes on his back and turns. Connor has not moved from where he was standing, but the intensity of his gaze is so strong he might as well be nose to nose with Markus.

For once, the Cat holds his tongue, watching Connor slowly advance towards him until they’re _actually_ nose to nose. “You ran back into a burning building for me.”

“I couldn’t lose you—” Markus doesn’t get to finish the sentence, Connor is already kissing him and his hands are already roaming his latex-covered body.

 _Holy shit_ , Connor just grabbed him by the _tail_.

He lets out a chuckle in faint puffs of breath against his lover’s skin. “You do know that’s not real, do you? It comes off with the belt.”

Connor just dips his head down to mouth at his neck. “I won’t miss it too much, if that’s the case.” And yet, he still uses his hold on it to guide Markus’ movements, making him turn his back to him and hugging him from behind so he can walk the both of them to the bedside.

Markus’ breath hitches when Connor, still standing behind him, brings both hands around his chest and starts unzipping the suit.

“You know…” the detective says, slipping one hand inside and enjoying the way Markus gasps quietly but doesn’t make any move to stop him, “It just hit me that you wrote your little goodbye note to me, but never gave _me_ a chance to tell you…”

The one thought going through Markus’ head right now is _‘Sweet Mother of all Cats this is actually happening’_. He tries to turn his head to the side. “Tell me what?”

Connor doesn’t meet him with a kiss. Instead he uses his free hand to tug the suit down his shoulder and leave a trail of little kisses there. “Selfish, selfish little kitty-cat…” he mouths along Markus’ skin, “If you want to hear me say it now… you’re gonna have to _earn it_ …”

Oh. _Oh._

 _That’s_ where Connor is going with this.

Well, two can play that game, _tiger_.

He tilts his head to give Connor better access to his neck and shrugs his arms out of the suit’s top, lifting one to grasp at the nape of his lover’s head, carding his fingers through the brown curls that always drove him crazy. “ _Meow_ …” he teases with a low little laugh, “Will I _get the cream_ if I’m a _good kitty_?”

If the way Connor instinctively holds him tighter and the arousal he can feel pressing against his back are any indication, that hit the mark.

“That… depends entirely of how _good_ you plan to be.” The detective whispers, pushing slightly against the small of his back to tilt him forward. “Off with the suit and get on the bed, on all fours.”

Markus wastes no time in complying; and Connor wastes even less than that in covering his prone form with his own. He feels himself grow harder with every moment Markus pliantly moves with him and lets him have all the control, as he slips his hand inside the latex trousers to find Markus already hard and wanting… Connor starts working him at the slow, torturous pace he deserves for being a _bad kitty_ , but it soon starts being torture for him as well –every sound out of Markus’ mouth, every arch of his back, every desperate little bucking of hips into his hand to chase the touch driving him crazy…

“Come on… _tiger_ … don’t you wanna _come and play_?”

Connor very much does want to, just not in that order. He pulls back slightly –and he bites hard at his lower lip when Markus makes a show of whining at the loss of contact— so he can undo his own trousers and get to the _real_ fun…

But good God, Markus has never looked as beautiful as he does now, on all fours and just waiting for Connor to _give it to him_. The real question is… does he _deserve_ it yet?

Markus’ little jolt of surprise when he feels something bite at his inner thigh already makes mischief bubble up in Connor’s chest as a chuckle.

“Connor? What are you—” The rest of the question is broken into a moan once Connor kisses his way up and gets to work behind him with his tongue. Connor can’t talk back, but he enjoys immensely every gasp, every moan, and his favorite: _“Fuck, Connor, holy shit…”_

He drags it out until Markus’ fists are clenching in the sheets and his back is arched and trembling before slowly kissing his way up his beloved Cat’s spine. “Mm… very good…” he whispers, placing a tender kiss just between Markus’ shoulder-blades and lining himself up to enter him.

His boyfriend is just about melting in his hands when Connor starts moving and working his length at the same time. There’s something different even about the way they have sex, now. Cat Lad had all the control and none of the emotions, while Markus was pliant and responsive but always holding _something_ back… free to be both, Markus can arch, and growl and hiss under Connor, letting himself feel and not having to hide the reactions that would have instantly given him away as the explosively sensual creature plaguing Connor’s every fantasy.

And Connor is loving every second of it. Markus is finally letting _him_ scratch and bite, unbothered by the tell-tale marks that will be left on his skin, and _oh_ , his skin is so warm and soft, Connor wants all of it.

He brings his free hand up to Markus’ neck to make him turn his head for a kiss; and that’s when he realizes— the whole suit had come off… except the mask.

Connor leans in for the kiss at the same time his hand goes to rip off the offending garment, and their lips meet just as the mask slides off and onto the mattress.

 _There._ That’s the perfect moment to say it.

“I love you.”

Meaning ‘I love _all_ of you’.

Markus has a stutter under him upon hearing the words breathed out against his lips, and Connor holds him through his orgasm, even as he becomes oversensitive to every sensation. “Connor— _fuck_ , I… ah…”

Connor keeps going, brought to the edge and over by all the noises Markus keeps making for him on top of the already maddening pleasure of being inside him –it really doesn’t take too long for him to come apart as well.

They collapse on the bed side by side, and Markus has to refrain from making jokes about being a cat who ‘got the cream’ indeed, opting instead to look at Connor with what he just _knows_ is a stupidly dreamy expression.

“You know what?” he says, turning a little so he can lean his head on Connor’s chest.

“What?”

Markus smiles to himself as Connor’s arm comes around his shoulders to hold him close. “I love you too.”

The funny thing is, it doesn’t feel like a happy ending: it feels like a beginning.

He’s still smiling as his eyes fall shut and he drifts off to sleep.

 

Connor wakes up to the bright light of late morning, several missed calls from Hank, and the click-clacking of a keyboard by his side.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Markus is lying on the bed, wearing only a white t-shirt with a blue cat on it –he can _tell_ Markus is _only_ wearing the t-shirt because it has slits on the sides and he’s getting a nice peek of the perfect curve of Markus’ ass.

Connor takes a good look at the shirt and fights the urge to shake his head. He already knew Markus was fond of vintage pop, but this is just too precious. “Really?” he asks, not quite able to bite back the grin.

“Say _one_ bad word about ABBA and I’m breaking up with you again.” It’s an empty threat, and it only serves to make the detective laugh more.

“My lips are sealed.” He promises all the same, leaning in to kiss the side of Markus’ neck. “So, what are you doing?”

Markus shifts the laptop that was resting on his thighs so Connor can see too. “Writing an open letter to Cat Lad’s fanbase.” He explains, “I called Simon this morning… he’s grateful that you saved my ass, and apparently I’m not fired. I have better friends than I deserve.”

Add to that the fact that he’s basically an internet celebrity now, and Simon would be an idiot _not_ to keep him on the paper. “Let’s see… _My name is Markus, but this is the story of how I became a Cat_ …” Connor chuckles, “I like it. Very DC comic origin story.”

Markus chuckles along with him and lets himself be hugged. “You know… I also talked out some more things with Simon and Josh.” He mentions, “To take what Cat Lad has been doing in the past and make it right…”

“Oh?”

Setting the laptop aside on the nightstand, Markus turns to face Connor, enjoying the feeling of being able to just straddle him because he _wants to_. “I just need someone with _legal expertise_ to hash out a few details…” he says, leaning into him to kiss the very tip of his nose and bite at it lightly, “Do you maybe know someone who might be willing to listen?”

Connor already knows it will take them hours to _actually_ talk, but doesn’t care as he slips his hands underneath the slits in the shirt. “Let me just check my schedule…”

 

It's late in the afternoon before they actually do some talking; after a big commotion in the form of one very agitated Carl Manfred calling his son and demanding he comes home to explain himself.

"You know... you never did tell me what the deal with your brother is." Connor mentions as they walk back to the car.

Markus shrugs a little. "Well. His mother's name is Grace. My mother's name was Selina, and... I was already a baby when she and Carl met."

"Oh."

It's not the easiest of situations. "Leo never quite forgave Carl for splitting up with his wife... then when my mother passed away and Carl _actually_ decided to accept custody of me? Insult to injury."

"Wow." yeah, definitely the kind of thing a boyfriend should have known. Christ, they're doing everything backwards. But hey, better late than never. "Still... he seems to care about you..." he offers, smiling a little despite himself, "At least, enough to threaten your douchebag cop boyfriend."

It does earn him a chuckle from Markus. "It wasn't easy, for the longest time... but it's been getting better."

He laces fingers with Connor and lets himself feel the moment. _Everything_ gets better, with enough time.

 

In the end, the Cat doesn’t quite hang up the claws: he just becomes a proper investigative journalist, taking advantage of his over-the-top character to cause a commotion when exposing art fraud and the likes.

If someone is making illicit money off art, they get a visit from a man in a cat costume –which now zips all the way up to his neck, because he’s keeping it _audience appropriate_ – accompanied by a video and sound tech who isn’t working that many late hours anymore.

Cat Lad has become the scourge of fraudsters all over the place: he steps in unexpectedly, making a scandal and pointing his clawed finger at injustice; and brings the cops in if the situation is severe enough that the law has to take over. The internet loves him, he's still half-way between a joke and a legend, and the guys at the precinct still welcome him with laughter and good-natured teasing whenever he visits.

It’s almost as if nothing has ever changed: by daytime, he’s looking after stray cats, playing piano and taking care of his detective boyfriend who works _so hard_ ; then, as soon as the sun sets, he dons his claws and mask and goes seeking out justice –this time through pen and paper rather than fists and felony.

Carl gave him a veritable earful after the fact, and it was an experience and a half to actually, properly explain himself to his family; but after the storm and the “what the hell were you thinking?!” things actually calm down and, Markus comes to discover, the truth is _always_ worth it.

It actually becomes the motto of his little column.

Sometimes, exposing illicit activities is enough to shut them down. Other times, a slightly stronger hammer is required. Markus secretly likes those times the best, because they’re the times he and Connor can work side by side again.

It’s one of such occasions, the perpetrator is being taken away while the anti-fraud unit is cordoning off the site, and he’s just given the last statement for Josh to save and send to editing.

“You know…” Connor says by his side, letting his eyes roam over the cat-like form, “I kinda miss your old costume.”

Markus chuckles, low and easy. “Gotta keep it PG-13, _tiger_.”

“Oh, _please_.” is the immediate answer, “ _Nothing_ about you has _ever_ been PG-13… kitty-cat.”

“Like you would have it any other way.” It’s barely a whisper of lips against lips before they kiss.

“Hey, Cat!” Josh’s voice suddenly calls from somewhere to their left, “I’ve got everything I need, we’re good to go!”

Markus grins against Connor’s mouth at that. Mismatched green and blue meet intense brown, and the detective already knows what’s coming –his lover has always been fond of dramatics.

True to form, the Cat takes a leap back and straddles his motorcycle. “See you next time, _tiger_ ~”

Finally, Connor can let himself fully appreciate the delicious promise beneath those words and the lips it came from.

“See you next time, _Markus_.”


End file.
